


No Traditional Pain

by rainygalaxynerd



Series: No Traditional Pain 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beware chapter 50, Can easily be avoided, Canon Divergence, Chapter 50 be toxic, F/M, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Original Character Death(s), PTSD, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Underage, Post-Hell, Rape/Non-con Elements, Read the note, Slow Burn, Somnophilia, Torture, Torturer Dean, canonical character deaths, canonical violence, husband says slow burn so slow it's decomposition, kickass OFC, visit from criminal minds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:19:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 64
Words: 123,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6657463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainygalaxynerd/pseuds/rainygalaxynerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caitlin escaped the horror of her childhood home ten years ago and spent every moment of every day fighting to achieve not only her dream of becoming a doctor, but her need to feel safe. When she met something that didn't back down from traditional pain due to being incorporeal, she had to learn about this new world of hunters and monsters. Two broken brothers unwillingly accepted the task of teaching her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bartending Sucks

**Author's Note:**

> This story is also being posted on tumblr with the title 'Brave New World'. Since I began to post, I've realized that is a very common title, so I managed something slightly more creative. So far I have written twenty chapters and I'm not even halfway through the story I want to tell. I post every Monday, but until AO3 catches up with my tumblr, I'll be posting here more often.
> 
> The story begins during season 7, shortly after 'Time after time'. Please feed my writer's need for attention and throw me a comment about what you like/dislike about the story.

Sometimes Caitlin felt trapped in her daily routines. It wasn’t that she wasn’t content with her life, it was just the same every day; she got up, went to school, went to work. She endured the sleazy drunk retards hitting on her night after night as she poured them drinks. The night it all changed started out as no exception. She stood behind the bar, serving the usual patrons, and as always, there were a few new faces too. One of them was a guy in his late twenties with mischievous eyes and a striking smile. He tried to flirt when he ordered a whiskey but she fended him off easily.  
“I’m busy working,” she said to him, giving him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.  
“Okey dokey,” he said, looking a bit like a lost puppy before strolling over to the pool table. Caitlin smiled a little to herself. It was nice when a guy who could actually take a hint. The evening wore on and she was getting tired. She was also running low on tequila so she called out to her boss, Glenn, and went out back, down the hall to the storage room. 

One of the patrons, a skinny guy with a scraggly beard and eyes seemingly too big for his face, dipped under the bridge to the bar and tried to follow her without being seen, but the barkeeper called him out. Observing from the pool table, the handsome guy relaxed visibly. Still, he kept a lookout through the corner of his eye, used to being alert and aware of his surroundings. Thus he witnessed ‘Skinny’ handing something to the barkeeper and entering the door Caitlin had disappeared through. 

Meanwhile Caitlin had finally found the box of tequila and had three bottles clutched in her hands. As she turned around to go back, she froze, seeing an unknown man standing in the doorway, leering at her.  
“Can I help you, sir?” She asked as politely as she could muster, even if she already felt certain what the man was after. The man simply smiled with an evil sounding chuckle. _Fine, whatever,_ she thought to herself. She threw two of the bottles at him, and smashed the third against the wooden crate. The jackass ducked as expected to avoid being hit by the two flying bottles and before he could even look up again, she had the broken bottle pressed against his neck, a droplet of blood collecting at a small puncture wound.  
“I don’t appreciate your tone, asshole,” she told him, twisting his arm around his back, ignoring the funny noises he made. “Now I’m going to show you the way back to the bar room, and from there, you’ll find your own way home, got it?” The jackass nodded and whimpered pitifully; as if she would ever feel sorry for a creep like him. She pushed him out into the hallway. 

Caitlin felt cold fear creep into her, as she stepped outside. Another stranger stood there, and for a second she thought she was screwed. Then she recognized the handsome guy that could take a hint. He was both tall and broad shouldered and looked ready to fight; but his stance relaxed as soon as he saw her manhandling her would-be assailant.  
“Wow,” he said, “boy do I feel stupid for barging in here after that scumbag, thinking you needed help.”  
“Sorry, I don’t do damsel in distress,” Caitlin told him dryly, returning his disarming smile cautiously.  
“So I gather.” His face became serious. “People have noticed, though - your colleague let that guy through for money, so he’d better have been counting on you to manage on your own.”  
“Glenn did WHAT?” She probably sounded more surprised than she was, but it still hurt that the bastard had betrayed her like that.  
“That guy tried to sneak in, this Glenn guy stopped him, so fine - but then they talked, Glenn received some money, and let him through. I’m really just telling you this, so you won’t be too surprised or angry when you see him in a minute, but damn it to hell, if I was going to PAY to stop what I thought would be going on..” The guy hung his head a little and looked kind of embarrassed. Although Caitlin couldn’t remember the last time she had been this angry, this guy was making her smile all the same.  
“Thank you for at least proving to me, in my dark hour of despair, that not all men are scum,” she half smiled as she pushed the jackass towards the door.

Ten minutes later Caitlin was out of a job. She had emptied out her rage and frustration into Glenn’s face, calling him every name for scumbag in the dictionary. Walking away, she felt empty. If she couldn’t find another job and soon, she wouldn’t be able to pay her rent or her tuition fees. She had spent the last ten years working hard to become a doctor. Saving up, passing the pre-med courses, getting into medical school. She was scared of the future. This was a major bump on the road she had mapped out for herself. It was, however, greatly satisfactory to see the bruises and the swollen eye, her new ‘friend’ had supplied Glenn with. When she had finished yelling at the asshole, Mr. Handsome was still there.  
“Nice cursing,” he grinned at Caitlin, once again managing to make her smile in spite of everything.  
“I’ve got lot’s of practice.”  
“Can I do anything for you? Give you a ride home, maybe?” He gave her a sincere look of concern that melted directly through half of her defensive walls in an instant.

Normally Caitlin would never get in a car with a stranger. Especially not someone like this guy. He looked strong, with an aura of _’if you try to mess with me, you brought it on yourself.’_ The kind of aura she wished she could surround herself with; then, maybe working as a bartender would suck less. She knew it was a really bad idea, but she just wanted to go home, get some rest and process the night’s events. She considered the stranger’s offer carefully and decided to take a chance; to trust her skills to keep her out of trouble, should anything arise.  
“A ride would actually be nice, but not unless you tell me your name?” She asked, mostly because calling him Mr. Handsome was getting ridiculous.  
“I’m Dean Winchester.” He was standing closer than she felt comfortable with and she took a couple of small steps backwards. Dean turned around and started walking towards the parking lot. Caitlin ran to catch up with him.  
“Caitlin Smith,” she finally managed. Dean simply smiled as he walked up to a banged up old ford.

Dean opened the passenger door for her, his face pensive as he watched her climb in, stiff and as far from Dean as she could get. Caitlin was already regretting her decision to take Dean up on his offer. As he turned the key and the engine rumbled to life, she nearly opened the door and bolted. Then the music came on, Def Leppard’s Bringin’ On the Heartbreak, blaring through the speakers.  
“I love that song,” Caitlin smiled softly, feeling her body relax a little.  
“Yeah? What else do you like?” Dean asked smiling back at her. Immediately she tensed up again and it didn’t go unnoticed. Dean sighed. “Music, I mean. We’re talking music, right?”

The drive ended up being surprisingly comfortable. Soon they were chatting music and movies and cartoons. Caitlin gave Dean a false address close to her real home and even felt a little guilty about it. He was just being nice and she kicked herself mentally for lying to him, but she couldn’t ignore her set of rules. The rules had kept her safe for ten years now. When Dean pulled up in front of Caitlin’s fake home, they were having a heated discussion on who would win, Wolverine or Iron Man. She had never felt so comfortable in a man’s presence and it had nothing to do with his good looks and everything to do with how he listened to her words and kept eye contact instead of leering at her body. She thanked him sincerely for the ride before regretfully climbing out of the car. Dean gave her a radiant smile and told her to take care. Then Caitlin ran up to a ramshackle apartment building and went through the door, standing ajar. 

Dean sat in his car and watched her enter the building. He would have to find another place and get a game of pool going. He and Sam were almost out of cash and they hadn’t had time to fill out applications for new credit cards for the last couple of months. They were officially broke. Still, he had beat up a jackass and talked to a totally cool beautiful girl, so he wouldn’t consider his evening so far completely wasted. He thought about Caitlin’s dark brown eyes and serious expression. He knew just what song to play while looking for another dump with pool tables. He grabbed his box with cassettes and started digging, while he tried not to imagine what had happened to her, to make her distrust everyone. Hell, he had just witnessed a very good reason for her to feel that way.


	2. The Elusive Van Morrison

Caitlin shut the door to her fake home behind her and waited to hear Dean drive away. Nothing happened. _‘Great’_ she thought to herself. _‘Now I’m stuck here while he changes the music, takes a nap or whatever is taking him so long.’_ The main door creaked open and for a terrifying second, Caitlin thought that Dean had followed her. When nothing else happened, she realized that the reason the door had been ajar was because the locking mechanism was broken. She felt thankful that this wasn’t a problem where she really lived. She started to take in her surroundings and decided that this place had to be cheap. The lights in the hallway kept buzzing and flickering and it was really cold with the wind blowing in through the open door.

Suddenly something touched Caitlin’s hair, and she jumped forward with a small scream. Turning her head, she wanted to scream louder, but her lungs seemed empty. The man standing in the shabby lobby had a giant bullet hole in his forehead. By no means should he be able to stand. His skin was greyish and the blood around the wound dried up and black. Caitlin stood frozen, unable to speak, to breathe, to move. _‘This cannot be real’_ her mind was screaming. _‘You must be going crazy’_. If ghosts were real, this would be what they looked like. Caitlin finally managed a gulp of air. _‘Ghosts can’t really hurt you, can they?’_ she thought. Shakily she asked her standard question.   
“Can I help you, sir?” Her voice was broken and sounded like a little girls. Sounded like the little girl she had once been, and the sound of her own voice made her flinch. The man in front of her didn’t answer; he simply reached out and grabbed her before she could move away from him. His touch was like ice and his grip iron tight. Try as she might, she couldn’t twist herself free. She stomped on his toes and elbowed him in the ribs, but neither his toes nor his ribs were actually there. She tried for the door, attempting to drag the ghost along, since he wouldn’t let her go. She managed a few steps; she could almost touch the door, when it slammed shut. “Please, no,” Caitlin whimpered as she felt cold enveloping her completely.

Dean searched the cassette box, growing irritated. The Van Morrison tape should be in there but he had been through it three times now. _‘If Sam took it’_ , Dean thought, _‘he better be ready for an epic prank battle’_. Something made him pause and look up. The door to Caitlin’s building had sprung open again, and the lights in the lobby were flickering. Dean stared at them, hesitant to investigate. It was probably nothing anyway, he told himself, and if she saw him in there now she would have no choice but to think the worst of him. Abruptly the door slammed shut, hard enough that an echoing boom could be heard inside the car, and Dean was running around to the car’s trunk.

Caitlin couldn’t breathe, she could barely feel, yet somehow every nerve in her body ached. She kept staring at the closed door, willing it to open, willing the ghost to let her go. Willing herself not to remember, not to panic. As her vision began to dim, the whole room getting impossibly darker, the door flew open. She recognized Dean’s silhouette, a shotgun in his hands. Unthinkable as it was, her fear spiked higher. Then he sidestepped to get a shot at the ghost behind her. _‘Not going to work,’_ she thought sadly, her last shreds of consciousness slipping away. The report of a gunshot sounded far away to her, she was falling through nothingness. Then she hit the floor and inhaled sweet musty air in huge gulps.  
She saw Dean reaching out towards her, and found the strength to scramble into a sitting position.  
“I’m fine,” she croaked, still breathing hard. She didn’t miss the hurt look on his face nor his concern. He took a tentative step away from her.  
“Okay, but we need to get out of here fast.” Dean wasn’t looking at her anymore but constantly scanning the room, holding his shotgun ready.   
“What… What the hell is going on?” Caitlin asked weakly between mouthfuls of air.  
“That motherfucker’ll be back soon”, Dean said, not bothering to explain further. “We’ve got to bail, hon”. He urged her towards the open door and she stumbled to her feet. Mindful of Dean’s presence behind her, she tumbled towards the cool night air. As she reached the threshold, the door slammed shut in front of her. The ghost was back, though not for long; Dean shot it and it vanished again. Caitlin wondered how he could hit it when she hadn’t been able to touch it. Dean reached out in front of her and she flinched away from him; he ignored her and tried the handle, effortlessly opening the door. He didn’t have to tell her to run, and soon they were back in the car.


	3. The Truth is out there

Turning the ignition, Dean revved the engine and sped away on screeching tires. Caitlin’s thoughts were tumultuous to say the least. She chanced a look at Dean. He had saved her; shown up at the last possible moment with a shotgun no less, and he had managed to hurt a ghost that couldn’t be touched. She knew she should be thanking him, but there were too many questions to ask. Dean caught her staring at him.  
“You okay?” he asked gruffly.   
“I guess,” Caitlin replied. She figured it was a matter of definitions, really. She may not have any broken bones but some things were not okay. Not okay at all. Dean surprised her by chuckling to himself.  
“I’m sorry,” he said with a crooked smile, “you’ll hate me for saying this, but you actually do damsel in distress very well.” Caitlin felt her cheeks redden at his shameless joke, not sure if she should punch him or laugh with him. To her own surprise, she settled for crying.

“Whoa whoa” Dean said as he pulled over and stopped the car. Ironically, they were now parked no more than 200 ft from Caitlin’s real home. “Jesus, girl, I was beginning to think you were made of ice”. Dean watched her hide her face between her hands. He leaned in to push her hands away, to tell her that her tears were nothing to be ashamed of. Caitlin sensed his hand before it reached her and flinched away.   
“Why did you bust in like that,” she asked him, not looking up.   
“Don’t thank me or anything,” he grumbled. “I was changing the music when I noticed lights flickering behind the door. In my line of work, that’s a bad sign. I figured it was nothing until the door slammed, though. That’s when I geared up and came running.” 

Caitlin tried to collect herself. She hadn’t cried in front of anyone since her escape ten years ago. His explanation was believable, she thought, trying to let go of her habitual suspicion. She wasn’t ready to face what had been happening when Dean rushed in, or what had happened after. Grasping for something to distract herself, she held onto his words.  
“Your line of work?” she asked him curiously.   
“Hunting ghosts,” he replied with a cocky smile that made her giggle.  
“Ha ha,” she said. “Really, what line of work?”  
“Hunting ghosts. Among other things.” This time he didn’t smile and suddenly Caitlin’s throat was too dry for her to even swallow; he wasn’t joking. That either made him insane, or her incredibly naive.  
“Tell me about it,” she said.  
“Are you sure?” Dean asked her. “Once you go down the rabbit hole and swallow the red pill we can’t just reinsert you into the matrix, Sugar.”  
“I’m sure,” Caitlin said, and she was. She had thought herself a realist, and the idea that the world was an even worse place than she knew didn’t appeal to her. Not knowing about it if that was the case, however, was less appealing.

Dean considered her. He didn’t want to give another ‘bump in the night’-speech. He didn’t want to upset this girl’s world; clearly she had enough on her plate already. On the other hand, he knew she wouldn’t be able to ignore what had happened. There was steel behind her eyes and he had no doubt that she would find out somehow, now that she had decided she wanted to know. He sighed deeply and began to explain.  
“I’m a hunter, and not the kind that shoots Bambi. Me and my brother, we look for news about strange, mysterious deaths, things that leave the cops floundering. They don’t know what to look for if it’s not people killing people. We do. We find the things that lurk in the darkness, the things only few people alive know about, and we gank them. On good days, we even get to save a few people’s sorry asses.”

Caitlin’s hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at the sound of his voice; he sounded cool, detached, as if merely relaying a weather report.   
“How do you know about all these things?” she asked, when he stopped talking. That elicited a small laugh from him, but it was a cynical, broken sound.   
“Dad drilled it into us. A demon killed our Mom when I was four. After that, Dad was obsessed with revenge. He was a marine before. Shooting practice since I was six, then all kinds of combat training. And lore. God I hate Latin. As soon as we were old enough, we tagged along as Dad worked cases, stayed alone in motel rooms, sometimes for weeks.” Dean met her eyes, with a guarded expression, waiting for a reaction from her.

“That sounds pretty tough,” she said softly. She had learned a long time ago not to compare her own story to others’, yet she really did think Dean’s childhood sounded moderately awful; even by her standards.  
“Sammy used to think so,” Dean smiled wryly. “I’d take it over a suburbian nightmare any day.”   
“It sounds like Sammy is the smart one,” she said jokingly. Dean’s spirit seemed to dampen a little. “I mean..” Caitlin felt flustered. Of course she had managed to offend him somehow. Why did she always put her foot in her mouth? “Not like that, Dean. It’s just the normal thing to want, you know?”   
“I guess.” He didn’t meet her eyes when he spoke again. “So how about you? Born and bred suburbian queen or what?” Caitlin knew he was just trying to change the subject but she wasn’t ready to talk about her own past; most likely she never would be. She cast around for something else to say.

“So what is out there, Mulder?” she asked, ignoring his question completely. Dean barked a laugh.  
“It’s a lot easier to start with what isn’t. Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny aren’t real. Neither is Bigfoot. Apart from them, pretty much everything you’ve ever heard about and lots of things you haven’t, prowl the night.”  
“So ghosts and .. demons?” Dean nodded at her, urging her to continue.  
“Vampires?” she asked. He nodded again, grinning.  
“They don’t sparkle, and you have to behead them; the stake in the heart thing doesn’t work.” The glint of mischief was back in his eyes. He looked carefree. Caitlin really believed him, when he said he didn’t regret growing up the way he did. She had a feeling he loved his work.  
“Werewolves?” She tried. Dean’s grin faded a little.  
“Yeah. Sometimes they don’t even know it, you know. You have to kill someone to protect innocent lives, but in a way they’re as innocent themselves. I fucking hate werewolves. There’s all sorts of werecreatures. Skinwalkers, shapeshifters, you name it.”  
Caitlin felt dizzy. That was a lot of monsters out there. How had she avoided this part of the world so far?


	4. Push and Shove

Dean was enjoying the conversation more than he should. Caitlin wasn’t freaking out, she was asking interesting questions, she was listening. He realized they had been parked and talking for almost half an hour.  
“Listen, Sugar, I’d love to keep talking to you but I was on a mission tonight and if I don’t succeed, me and Sam don’t eat tomorrow. You can bunk in my room since I won’t be needing it, and we’ll take care of your ventilated friend back there tomorrow. Sound good?” Dean smiled at her to take the sting out of his words. He remembered Cas a few months ago, proclaiming his ‘people skills’ ‘rusty’. The thought shot a pang of sorrow through him; he missed his angel friend. Caitlin watched him warily before nodding her consent. He steered the car towards the abandoned building where he and Sam were squatting this week.

Caitlin tried to keep her breathing even. She was in a car with practically a stranger, on her way to an unknown destination. She was breaking pretty much all the rules she had made to keep herself safe. Rule number one: Don’t trust anyone. Rule number two: Don’t tell anyone anything real about yourself. Rule number three: Don’t go into a confined space if you don’t have a plan. Right now she either had to tell him she had lied about her address or suffer his reluctant hospitality. With the things he had told her so far, perhaps it was time to change the rules anyway. From now on, rule number one should be: Don’t get killed, mauled, eaten, taken or turned by monsters. She rocked lightly in her seat. How the hell was she going to make it out alive if she ever ran into something like that again?

“Sorry for being slow on the uptake, but you and your brother fight monsters?”  
“Yeah, we do. No health insurance, and only hell to pay.”  
“Teach me how.” Caitlin knew she couldn’t make demands of him but she tried anyway. She had a feeling he wouldn’t like her request; that it would take a lot of persuasion on her part, and cajoling wasn’t in her nature anymore. Dean took his eyes off the road to regard her for a moment.   
“Absolutely not.” His voice was flat and his eyes hard.  
“Why not?” She was more curious than angry, but matched his tone anyway. He sighed deeply.  
“Because it ends bloody and sad.”  
“You’re still alive.”  
“If I’m the one to teach you, I’m the one who ultimately failed you when it ends.”  
“Fuck you, Dean. It’ll be because of my own choices, not yours.”  
“Enough, Caitlin. I can’t do it, okay? I can’t lose anyone ever again or I’ll fucking eat a bullet.” _‘And Sam will do something incredibly stupid to bring me back anyway,’_ he continued in his mind.

Caitlin didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to reconcile Dean’s previous words with his apparent embrace of his life as a hunter.  
“Dean I.. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you feel that way, okay? But how can you be totally okay with living this way yourself and feel this way about anyone else doing the things you do?”  
Dean slammed the brakes and the car skidded to a halt. People were honking and driving around, making crude gestures at them.  
“I’m still alive, ain’t I?” He looked at her with so much bitterness, regret and grief in his eyes that she had to look away. “I’m the one who has to burn the bodies and bury the ashes. Don’t fucking psychoanalyze me.”  
“But Dean..”  
“-No buts. Things are fine when it’s just Sammy and me. I won’t give you the chance to screw that over. You’re going home tomorrow when it’s safe and that’s final.” The anger rolled off him in waves, but it wasn’t directed at her, not really. The anger was just never far from the surface these days; not after Bobby.

Caitlin considered him, as he got back into traffic; or rather as he stopped obstructing traffic. His knuckles were white on the wheel and he stared blankly ahead. She knew how it felt to sometimes be pushed backwards, to be reminded of things usually buried deep inside, to feel ready to snap or break into a thousand pieces. She had never seen anyone like that unless she stared at herself in the mirror on such a day, but she recognized it in Dean now. She couldn’t push him further, she really shouldn’t. And yet this was about her life, her survival chances, not his; even if he tried to make it so.  
“You don’t really know anything about me, Dean,” she said softly. “My life isn’t exactly roses and strawberries to begin with. I get it, you’re trying to protect me, you want me safe. But if there’s one thing I know, it is that I’m the only one who can keep me safe. I’m not asking you to teach me to fight, I can do that already. I’m asking you to tell me how; how did you hit that ghost when I couldn’t touch it? If the world is full of monsters, I need to know how to defend myself against them.”

Dean kept driving, refused to acknowledge that she had spoken. He knew Sam was going to take her side and it only made him more angry. When he drove around the back of the shabby, abandoned house, Caitlin looked horrified.  
“I told you there was only hell to pay. We don’t get paid. We travel. Usually we stay in motels but sometimes we house sit lonely houses.” Dean couldn’t help the shit eating grin spreading on his face. “If the accommodations isn’t to your liking, I can take you to a five-star hotel instead, Princess. As long as you pay the bill yourself.” Caitlin resigned herself to a restless night with barely an audible sigh.  
“There’s not even a bed in your room, is there?”  
“Only blankets and a sleeping bag, but it’s free.”  
“I’ll take it,” she said and walked towards the rear entrance of the run-down house.


	5. In the Screaming Night

Dean showed her the bathroom and the water bottles so she could flush the toilet, even though the house was without water and power. Then he took her to a room, a bundle of blankets tossed in a corner.  
“I’ll just let Sam know you’re here, then I’m heading out. Sleep tight,” he said quietly. Caitlin nodded and began to arrange the blankets to her liking. She didn’t expect to be able to fall asleep, but she knew she must rest as best she could. 

As she crawled into the sleeping bag, her nostrils were assaulted by the smell of Dean. Out of the mix she discerned whiskey, leather, and gunpowder. Smelling whiskey while lying down did nothing to help her keep her memories of the past locked away. It didn’t help either that her throat was sore after the ghost had cut off her air. She had been helpless in the ghost’s grasp, helpless and dying and she had felt so much like back when.. She shook her head, and tried to take a deep steadying breath. Gunpowder. That reminded her of countless hours spent at the local gun range, learning to handle small firearms. Now she needed to learn how to use shotguns and rifles too. Another deep breath and she simply sensed all the smells together, let them just be the smell of Dean. It was a very masculine smell and for reasons she wasn’t prepared to think too hard about right now, somehow it made her feel safe. She drifted off and managed a few hours of uneasy sleep.

It was still completely dark outside when Caitlin started awake, her blood running cold. Somewhere in the house someone was screaming like they were being tortured. She stumbled blindly towards the sound of screaming; she would probably end up face to face with some kind of monster. Something she wouldn’t know how to deal with, and it would kill her and that other person, but she couldn’t ignore it or run away. No one should die alone. 

She stopped dead in her tracks as her eyes fell at the source of the screaming; a man lying in a similar pile of blankets to hers. He was obviously fast asleep, yet he was screaming, pleading and crying. Caitlin knew nightmares. She had plenty herself, but she had never seen terror like this. Pity winning out on her self preservation instinct, she tried to wake the dreamer, guessing he must be Dean’s brother, Sam.  
“Sam,” she called, “Sam, wake up. Sam you’re dreaming. Sam, it’s okay.” When he didn’t react to her voice at all, she took a deep breath and moved closer to him. She grabbed his feet inside the sleeping bag, figuring it would be safer than touching him somewhere on his torso. She shook him as hard as she could.

Sam woke up fighting; Lucifer had been sitting on his chest, carving designs into his face. Suddenly nothing was holding him down and he was ready to punch the devil. Lucifer followed him around like a lost pup most of the time these days, and Sam knew he couldn’t touch him, couldn’t hurt him, because Lucifer wasn’t really there. Coming awake so abruptly left that tiny detail out for a few moments, however. There was only the light of the streetlamps and the moon in his room, and he saw a figure standing at his feet. 

He was still somewhat tied down, he noticed, but he could get up if he wanted to. Of course he wanted to and, his hand closing on the knife under his head, he scrambled to his feet. The figure backed away from him quickly, soon trapped in a corner of his room.  
“I’m out,” said Sam, advancing on Caitlin. “I’m out, and you can’t make me come back. I’m not gonna let you.”  
“You’re dreaming,” she stammered. “Please Sam, it’s just a dream.”  
Oh did Sam know that song. _‘You’re still here with us, it was all just an illusion. Aren’t you happy to be back?’_ He let his free hand close around her throat and held her against the wall, knife at the ready.

Caitlin didn’t dare fight him, certain that doing so would only result in a stab wound. She was terrified, sure, for the second time this night, that her life was about to end. At least it would end quickly, she comforted herself, looking into the madness in Sam’s eyes. He had cut off her air supply and gave her no more chances to reason with him. She waited for the darkness and loss of consciousness. At least now she didn’t have to worry about getting another job. 

Sam knew something wasn’t right. Why didn’t the demon fight back? Why was she just letting him choke her, tears rolling silently down her face? Something scratched in the back of his mind; Dean telling him something earlier. _‘Sam, hey, didn’t get my hands on anything yet, but I grabbed us a case. This girl’s apartment is haunted, so I’m letting her stay in my room. Don’t freak out on her, okay?’_ Realizing he was killing some poor girl with a haunted home, Sam let go of Caitlin. 

She fell into a crumpled heap on the floor, not gasping for air as she should be. The sour stench of urine hit his nostrils. Feeling a different kind of panic, a real panic, edge into his mind, Sam straightened her out and pushed her chest lightly. When nothing happened, he pinched her nose and blew air through her mouth. At the second blow of air her eyes flew open, and even though she shouldn’t have had the strength to move at all yet, she was flailing and pushing herself away from Sam. Sensing her distress, he took a couple of steps backwards.  
“I’m so sorry,” he said, unaware that he was crying too. “I thought you were.. I didn’t mean to.. Oh God I’m so sorry.” Next to him, Lucifer was laughing.  
“Nice work Sam. Now she’ll live to hate you and think you’re a freak; she’ll make sure you never forget that.” Sam pressed his hand hard, until the pain made Lucifer pale and fade away. He couldn’t help a scream of frustration before dropping to his knees, burying his head in his hands.


	6. Fallout

Dean entered the house feeling elevated. He had finally gotten lucky and was bringing home enough cash to last them a couple of weeks. When he looked in to check on Caitlin and found the corner empty, something clenched in his gut; then he heard Sam’s anguished scream and ran. Caitlin was lying on the floor in Sam’s room, barely conscious. Sam was kneeling at the other side of the room, his hands pressed against his eyes as if all he wanted to do was to vanish into nothingness this very moment. Torn between the two, he forced himself to act calm.

“Hey, what happened?” he asked, moving first towards his brother. He clamped a firm hand on Sam’s shoulder. His brother barely reacted, his whole body shaking. “Sam?” When he still didn’t get a reaction, he moved on to Caitlin, dropping to his haunches next to her.  
“Caitlin, are you okay?” Dean already knew better than to try to touch her, even if the tears streaming down her face made him want to hug her until they let up.  
“What it is with me and getting strangled tonight?” she whispered hoarsely. Dean felt his stomach drop, felt his throat dry out. He looked at Sam incredulously and his disbelief turned to worry for his brother. Sam looked more broken than ever, like all the fight for normalcy or just functionality had gone out of him. He looked like he had given up and wanted it all to be over.  
“What happened,” Dean whispered, but no one answered. He had no idea how to fix either his brother or his charge, but there was no one else to do anything; he had to try.

First he hauled Sam back to his sleeping corner and made him lie down. He spent a moment cradling Sam’s head in his hands, stroking his hair.  
“It’ll be fine little brother. We’ll figure it out. Hang on till morning, get some rest, you hear?” He mindlessly hummed the chorus of ‘Hey Jude,’ feeling Sam’s tense muscles relax a little at the familiar tune and gesture. Then he turned back to Caitlin, who was trying to sit up against the wall; so far without luck. He got down on hands and knees as he went to her, knowing he would be intimidating to her even like that.  
“Caitlin, take it easy. I’m going to carry you back to the other room and we’ll talk. You’re still weak from oxygen deprivation, so relax and let me help you. I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” Her eyes were blown wide but she gave him a tiny nod, so he gathered her into his arms, careful to hold her as loosely as he could without risking her falling. As her head fell to his shoulder, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes with a small sigh. Walking through the hallway, he noticed the wet stain in her pants. Once again he wondered what had happened; he had already seen Caitlin hit the floor once this night and she had still been tough as nails afterwards. 

He gently laid her down in the blankets and covered her up to keep her warm. He rummaged through his duffel and handed her a clean pair of boxer briefs.  
“You okay to get changed on your own?” he asked. He had to clench his right hand tight enough that it hurt, not to reach out and push her dark curls away from her face. She nodded once, and he stood outside and listened to the rustling of fabric. He re-entered with a knock when it turned quiet and moved to sit against the opposite wall from where she lay. 

When time passed without her saying anything and her eyes were still on him, he decided to start.  
“Sammy’s been through a lot. He’s not usually.. I’m still getting used to this. He’s never done anything like this before.” He stopped, not sure what else to say. He stayed quiet for some time before Caitlin spoke in a hoarse, rasping voice.  
“He had a nightmare. He was screaming and pleading for something to stop. I knew it could be dangerous to wake him but I had to try. I always wish someone would..” Caitlin trailed off. Dean felt sick. Sam shouldn’t be dreaming about hell; he felt another wave of grief and anger towards Cas. Caitlin shouldn’t be waking up alone from her nightmares either. Dean wished there was a way to fight these things physically. He wanted to kill Sam’s hallucinations and Caitlin’s fear, preferably with his fists.  
“Do you want to leave?” Dean managed to ask her in the end. “I can pay for a motel room now.”

“It’s okay.” Caitlin felt the throbbing pain in her throat worsen. She couldn’t believe she was still alive. Couldn’t believe that after all that had happened, she was wearing Dean’s underwear, and he had not tried anything with her. Poor Sam, she thought, he had been so scared, so lost in his own nightmare. She thought he had killed her, but then she had woken up, throat on fire and lungs freezing. All she had known in that moment was a man’s lips on hers, and that she couldn’t scream, couldn’t move. He had scrambled away from her, he had apologized, had seemed so broken; he had screamed in such agony that she felt her own pain lessen in comparison. “I think he was as scared as I was,” Caitlin told Dean. 

Then she was shaking and the tears returned as she buried her head in the blankets. She inhaled Dean’s scent and remembered that same smell grounding her earlier, when his hands held her as something precious as he carried her back to this room. Right now he was keeping his distance, as he had so quickly learned that she preferred. She wondered if he would hold her again if she asked him to; if he would stop when she couldn’t stand it any longer. The image of him holding her for a little while helped her calm down and soon the shaking subsided. She then sensed that Dean was fidgeting, his knee bouncing up and down.  
“Go on, Dean. I’ll be fine. Check on Sam.” Caitlin gave him a brave smile and burrowed into the blankets, willing her body to relax. 

Dean shot her a thankful look before leaving, taking her wet clothes with him to soak them in the bathtub. He sighed at the sight of their dwindling supply of bottled water; he hated living so primitively. After wringing and hanging Caitlin’s clothes up to dry, he finally went to Sam’s room. 

Sam still lay where Dean had left him, fighting visions of Lucifer and his own fear and guilt. As his brother approached, Sam braced himself for the scolding he expected. He wouldn’t even be surprised if this ended up in one of the few times Dean would be angry enough to punch him. Sam was resigned to suck anything up Dean might throw at him; he deserved it all and more.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean’s voice was gruff with concern, not anger.  
“Of course not,” Sam responded. “Dean, I lost it again. I shouldn’t be hunting; I shouldn’t even be alive.”  
“You had never seen her before. You were startled awake from a nightmare. I shouldn’t have left her alone with you; it’s my fault.”  
“No, it isn’t. You didn’t try to kill her. You didn’t squeeze her throat until she stopped breathing. You didn’t have to.. to.. breathe her back to life.”  
“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean muttered, not realizing until this moment how bad it had been. Sam had fallen silent again, his fists clenching and unclenching. Dean gathered him up in one of his rare hugs. “It’s still gonna be okay, I promise,” he whispered.  
“How can it be? Dean, she must be terrified of me. She must hate me so much.” Sam leaned into the hug but didn’t really have the strength to return it. Dean smiled into Sam’s shoulder.  
“I think you’ll find that Caitlin isn’t your average girl. She already understands, Sammy. She doesn’t know what happened to you, but she understands.” 

The morning was closing in on them. Dean wanted to get them all breakfast but wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to leave Sam and Caitlin alone again. In the end, Sam solved the problem by offering to go. Dean really didn’t like that idea either but Sam kept insisting that he could do it, that he wanted to. Between the lines, Dean could read the addon; _‘if you don’t think I can, you might as well lock me up right away. Maybe you should.’_ Sam looking at him like that, didn’t leave him any choice but to let him go. He felt that he probably should lock him up instead, make sure he couldn’t end up hurting someone again, when the hallucinations got the best of him. Logically that really was what he should do, but Dean couldn’t. Dick Roman was untouchable and if Sam wasn’t a part of ‘Operation Kill Dick,’ then Dean was done. All done. 

Dean woke Caitlin up without entering the room, throwing her almost dry pants in there without looking. He briefly wondered when he’d have time to get some much needed sleep himself, as he waited outside. She emerged from the room looking drained and befuddled.  
“Breakfast in just a bit,” he told her gruffly, then cringed at the sight of the bluish purple hand shaped mark around her throat. “How are you feeling,” he added more softly.  
“Like I spent the night getting almost killed a couple of times,” she said with a wry smile, her voice still a bit hoarse. “Is Sam okay?”  
Dean couldn’t really look at her, because no, Sammy wasn’t okay; besides, his vision was all blurry again, dammit.  
“Yeah,” he muttered, staring at nothing out the window. “He’ll be back any minute with grub for all of us.”

Sam came back with a redundancy of food and coffee, offering it up to Caitlin without a word; unable to even meet her eyes, staring instead at the purple bruises around her neck. She took one of his large hands and held it between her own.  
“Please don’t be scared of me,” she told him. “I’ll try not to be scared of you.” Sam’s eyes traveled up to hers slowly, meeting her gaze reluctantly.  
“How can you say that after what I did to you?” he asked. Caitlin looked down at their hands.  
“Let’s just say that our roles could have been reversed and leave it at that, please.” In spite of everything, that had Sam chuckling. The thought of this lithe girl getting close to killing him seemed absurd; he could tell by the look in her eyes though, that she wasn’t kidding.  
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, a hint of steel in her voice. “You’re probably right, but I could have broken your nose or something.” Her flat statement had Sam retreating a step backwards.  
“Come on guys, EAT,” Dean said, easily breaking the tension. They ate stood at the kitchen counter, as there was no other furniture.


	7. Exhaust

Dean filled Sam in on the ghost in Caitlin’s apartment. Meanwhile, Caitlin fidgeted with her cup of coffee and tried to think of a way to tell the two brothers that it wasn’t really her home.   
“I’m thinking we find out about the building’s history first and try to identify the ghost,” Sam was saying, when she put her coffee down.  
“I need to tell you something,” she said. “Don’t get mad at me.” She turned her head pleadingly to Dean. He frowned and kept still, waiting. “I don’t really live in that building. I just told you I did because it was close and the door was open. I have these rules, no one can know where I live; I never get into cars with strangers either, but last night I… I’m sorry.” Dean’s entire body seemed taut like a wire, his face looked like a thundercloud ready to burst, but he kept silent. The tension became almost unbearable to Caitlin. “Please, Dean, I didn’t want to lie to you, but.. “ She never finished her sentence because Dean turned where he stood and left the room. Moments later the front door slammed shut behind him. Sam and Caitlin waited for the roar of the car engine, but it never came.

“He just went for a walk,” Sam said quietly. He pitied his brother, knowing that he was walking a trip down blame lane; but it had been Sam who had nearly killed Caitlin. The silence stretched.   
“You don’t know anything about the building then?” Sam finally asked her.  
“Just that the front door was ajar when we passed it. Apparently the locking mechanism was broken.” She thought it over for a moment. “What kind of knowledge would be helpful?” Sam quirked an eyebrow at her. She held his gaze, swallowing hard.  
“You want to learn about hunting?” he asked her.  
“I almost got killed by a ghost last night. I need to be able to defend myself.”  
“Have you talked to Dean about that notion?” Sam asked her, watching her reaction intently. This time she raised her eyebrow and smiled wryly.   
“He sure wasn’t keen on it. It’s not his decision, though. I’ll find out on my own if I have to. But I have a feeling I’ll be better off learning from you guys.” She crossed her arms and shivered a bit.   
“I agree,” Sam said softly. “I’ll talk to Dean.” 

Sam couldn’t believe she was still even here after what happened in the night, let alone talking to him as if everything was completely normal. As if he was completely normal. However, it was good that she wanted to learn; after all, the odds were that once you knew what was out there, it would find you.   
“That’s right, Sammy,” Lucifer laughed from his place in the doorway. “She’s as good as dead already. She’ll look so pretty, bleeding and begging for mercy while you try to save her.” Sam flinched and pressed his hand hard.

Dean walked back towards the house, still not ready to face his brother and Caitlin. He had gone off without his jacket and he was shivering; mostly from the cold. If he hadn’t looked for that tape last night, Caitlin might have made it out of the building before the ghost appeared. She wouldn’t have known about monsters, Sam wouldn’t have nearly killed her. If they taught her more, she’d be in harm’s way until the life caught up with her and it would all be his fault; just like it would be his fault if all this put too much strain on Sam, if this place between reality and insanity he’d found faltered and failed now. Poor Sam, as if he wasn’t thoroughly in the bell jar already. He missed Sam in a weird way. He had just gotten the real Sam back, goddammit! The straightjacket version of Sam was better than the soulless one; at least he didn’t have to deal with part of Sam being in hell, but he missed his little brother. He wanted for Sam to be happy, for crying out loud, not this. It shouldn’t be like this; and now Caitlin, his little charity case, was smack in the middle of their mess. Dean sighed and covered his eyes with one hand before entering the house.

He found Sam and Caitlin waiting for him impatiently.  
“Dude, you ran off without your phone but with the car keys. And you say I’m mental,” Sam said, the scolding lacking any real bite. Dean shrugged.  
“I guess it’s negotiable.” He turned his back to Sam so he wouldn’t have to see his brother’s surprise at his lack of comeback. Maybe he wasn’t exactly certifiable himself, but he was tired. His whole body felt like lead and all he wanted to do was sleep for a month.  
“Dean?” He faced Sam slowly, looking for an excuse not to. “Did you sleep at all last night?”  
“‘m fine, Sammy,” he said, turning around again to look for his jacket. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder. A hand too small to be Sam’s. He spun to look at Caitlin. Except for when he carried her from Sam’s room last night, this was the first time they had touched at all.  
“You’re not,” she said softly, letting her hand fall to her side. “I know you didn’t sleep last night. Go get some rest, Sam and I can go to the library ourselves.” She smiled a crooked little smile and made a ‘scoot’ motion with her hands. Dean drew in a deep breath, anger already burning hot inside him.  
“You, Sweetheart, are not going to the library. You’re not putting me to sleep here so you can go learn all about…” Dean trailed off as she backed away from him, her eyes wide open and her breath coming in short gasps. She hit the kitchen counter and looked like she wanted to climb across it to get away from him. He saw Sam reaching out to her and held up his hand to stop him. Sam froze, his confused gaze rapidly shifting from Dean to Caitlin and back.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked her as her breathing slowed a bit. He knew she could handle his anger; she hadn’t backed down in the car last night, but something had obviously distressed her. She took a final, deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and glared daggers at him.  
“Don’t call me sweetheart, Dean. Ever.” Caitlin looked as if she was daring him to try again. He stared at her in disbelief.  
“Seriously? You freak out for no reason and I can’t use my favorite nickname for pretty, smart girls anymore? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dean crossed his arms and glared back at her, waiting for an answer. Caitlin was unphased.  
“Just go lie down. Mope all you want to, but remember to get some sleep.” She strode past him, snagging the car keys from his hand. He turned his head to watch her slender figure walk through the door.

“Close up, bro, you’ll catch flies,” Sam stated as he followed her a few seconds later. Dean blinked a couple of times before he yelled after his brother:  
“Don’t let her drive.” It wasn’t until a few minutes later he remembered that the keys Caitlin had taken from him were just for ‘POS of the week’ and not his Baby. He groaned as he threw himself down in his room and took a deep breath. Something smelled of coconut and flowers. He sniffed his sleeping bag and ended up burrowing his nose into it as his eyes fell shut.

Caitlin threw the keys to Sam as they entered the driveway. As they got in the car, Sam dissolved in laughter. Caitlin regarded him inquisitively.  
“I haven’t seen Dean thrown off his game that way since high school,” Sam grinned.   
“I guess he doesn’t get out of his comfort zone very often,” Caitlin scoffed. Sam’s smile disappeared, his mind wandering to the harsh reality of his and Dean’s life.   
“Maybe,” he finally conceded. “But I think you fail to realize just how extensive Dean’s comfort zone is.” He gave Caitlin a meaningful stare. “You do realize he’s been hunting monsters since he was a teenager?” Sam turned the key in the ignition and put the car in reverse. Caitlin didn’t say anything, watching the run down houses in the neighborhood as they sped past them. 

They were halfway to the library before she spoke again.  
“He seems so angry all the time.” She was still staring out the window, seemingly lost in thought. Sam thought about it; he had to admit she was right. But why wouldn’t Dean be angry, he thought. Cas, Bobby, Sam’s own state. That was all within the last six months. Thinking further back certainly didn’t help things.  
“He is angry all the time. He has reason enough to be.” Sam took his cue from Caitlin and didn’t look at her as he spoke. She seemed to consider him, but to his great relief, she didn’t say anything else. Sam steered with his left thigh while he pressed the scar in his hand, to shut Lucifer’s jabbering up. The guilt trip over what he had done to Caitlin didn’t need any help from the prince of darkness to keep his throat tight and his stomach churning.


	8. Research is not for the Weak

**The library**  
Nina prided herself in how many of the students regularly visiting the library she could name. She had been working as a librarian for almost twenty years. As a young woman walked through the front doors, Nina recognized her as Caitlin and smiled. That girl had been a regular for nearly half the time she had worked here, always studying; always alone. Not today though, she realized. Caitlin was accompanied by a tall, broad shouldered man. Nina had often thought it a bit strange and sad that such an obviously intelligent and beautiful young girl never seemed to have any friends, and her first thought was _‘oh how wonderful for her.’_ Then she took in Caitlin’s appearance: Her rumpled, slept-in clothing and unkempt hair. The deep blue lines under her eyes and.. Nina’s hands flew to her mouth in horror; the deep blue and purple bruises of a giant hand around Caitlin’s throat. Her eyes flew from the bruises to the man next to her, as her own hands began to shake. She was barely able to return the friendly wave Caitlin threw her way, before heading towards the study hall. Unsure of what to do, Nina went to the bathroom and called the police.

Sam pulled out his laptop and soon they were poring over entries in the local news concerning the neighborhood of the haunted building and Sam was telling her all about ghosts. How they came into existence, things that usually limited them, things that could hurt them temporarily, and how to get rid of them permanently. When nothing showed up on the building, Sam showed her how to access police reports and they searched for missing persons in the area. They had just found a possible match, a man that had disappeared without a trace from one of the apartments in the building eight years ago, when Sam spotted a police officer walking through the doors to the library.  
“Uhm, I need to go to the bathroom,” he hurriedly told Caitlin before he extricated himself from his chair and walked away as inconspicuously as he could. She thought it odd for a moment, until she too saw the officer, making a beeline for the study hall. She remembered Dean’s words the night before: “Only hell to pay.” It figured that the brothers would be wanted for something. The question was who she could trust. Sliding a hand across her sore neck, she remembered the ghost and knew where she’d put her money.

Sam hid in the bathroom for a few minutes, cursing the fact that he wasn’t wearing his suit. Even after the leviathans made them infamous, donning a suit and flashing an FBI-badge was enough to keep law enforcers from thinking about the Winchester brothers. After all, they were dead, right? But here he was, wearing his usual plaid shirt, in dire need of a shave and a shower. It was too soon to take the chance and think no one would remember. Sam didn’t want to think about how many questions him showing up alive now would raise. He carefully peeked out and saw the officer talking to Caitlin.

**The abandoned house**  
Dean woke after just a few minutes of sleep; something that happened to him more and more often. His mind assaulted him with images of the night before, vividly creating pictures of what he hadn’t been there to see. As he sat up and wiped the sweat from his face, he realized that he had left Sam alone with a woman he had almost killed. That Sam had been so wrapped up in cage memories that he had hurt an innocent bystander. He hurriedly left in pursuit of a ‘new’ vehicle. It was time for them to switch transportation anyway. 

He reached the library in time to see a police car parked outside, an officer going through the front door. ‘Dammit,’ he swore under his breath. He waited outside, leaning nonchalantly against a light post, until the officer walked from the front desk and further into the library. Then he entered, slowly working his way in the same direction the officer had wandered off to. Perched between rows of bookshelves, he saw his brother carefully exiting the bathrooms and come to stand opposite from Dean. Both of them hidden from plain sight and within earshot, Dean tried to calm himself down a little. It was just one officer, after all. It had probably nothing to do with them. He waited and listened.

“Listen, Officer Windle, I appreciate your concern for my well being, but I’m perfectly fine.”  
“And the man that came in here with you? Where is he?”  
“What man? I came here alone.” Caitlin didn’t blink as she spoke the lie.  
“The caller said you came in here with a tall man, Miss.”  
“A guy might have entered the same time as me. It’s a public building after all.”  
“I’m going to be frank with you,” Officer Windle began. “You look like shit, Miss. And you look like someone strangled you halfway to death recently. I don’t know why you’re protecting the asshole, but I’m not letting him have another go. Where is he?” His voice rose slightly with the question, as if his patience was wearing thin. Caitlin moved to stand up next to Windle.   
“This?” she said, pointing to the bruises, “this was consensual. I’m just kinky like that. Now leave me alone.” 

From their hiding places the brothers recognized her tone of voice. She sounded the way she had, when she had told Dean not to call her sweetheart. They both sincerely hoped that the guy would do as she said. But Officer Windle was a good man; he wasn’t anything but thorough. Cynical too.

“Consensual? Fine,” he spat. “Then let me talk to the guy to whom you gave your _consent_.” Caitlin’s answering smile was bone chilling.  
“Let me save you some time, Officer. Instead of sending you on a wild goose chase after my boyfriend, let me tell you something; and please do not take this the wrong way, because it may be a bit of a shocker, but,” Caitlin grabbed Windle’s hand and stepped behind him in a flurry of motion, pushing him against the table until his face touched its surface, his hand caught behind his back, “if I don’t give my consent to something, it doesn’t happen.” She let go of him and stepped back. 

Dean held his breath, half expecting the man to arrest her for assaulting an officer on duty. Thankfully Windle simply stood up to regard Caitlin a little wide eyed.  
“I suppose,” he finally said. “I apologize for interrupting your studies, Miss.” She gave him a curt nod and sat back down as if nothing had happened. The brothers watched the officer talk shortly to the elderly woman at the front desk before finally leaving the library.

When all was clear, the boys made their way to Caitlin.  
“What the hell were you thinking?” Dean whisper-yelled at her. “He could have arrested you!”  
Caitlin barely showed any surprise at his presence.   
“What the hell are you doing awake?” she asked him, mimicking his indignant tone. Her quirky eyebrows and steady gaze had Dean bristling. Sam tried to head off what promised to be a spectacular argument.  
“Thank you for not telling on me, Caitlin. And really nice job on it too,” he said with a big smile, shooting Dean a warning glance. With a heroic effort, Dean managed to calm down a little.  
“Yeah, you were uh pretty smooth,” he finally managed.  
“Thank you.” said Caitlin magnanimously. “I’ll just print this and we can get going. I believe there’s a dead body waiting to be found.” 

She couldn’t help feeling smug at Dean’s pained expression. Obviously he wasn’t a fan of her usual stoic self. Too bad, she wasn’t about to let go of what held her together at times when she wasn’t about to die horribly. As she walked to the printer, she stopped for a moment to talk to the librarian up front.  
“Hey,” she started with a small smile. “I wanted to thank you for calling the police, even though I’m perfectly fine. It was kind of you.” Caitlin reached out to take the older woman’s hand, a gesture similar to the one she had used with Sam that same morning. “Promise me you’ll do it again. If something doesn’t seem right, you call. It’s better to unknowingly inconvenience someone, than not saving someone that could have been saved.” The librarian clasped her other hand over Caitlin’s and smiled.  
“Thank you,” she simply said.


	9. Trust Issues

As Caitlin went towards the car she and Sam had arrived in, Dean stopped her.  
“That’s yesterdays model, Swee.. Sugar. This way ‘round, if you please.” Caitlin smiled softly at his self correction. Sam groaned, guessing from Dean’s behavior that he had stolen another baby-clone to impress their charge. He was right.  
“Inconspicuous, huh?” Sam scolded when Dean led them to an old blue mustang, looking way too shiny for its purpose.  
“It’ll get dirty soon enough,” Dean said. “She was looking so lonely, all the way back in an auto shop's yard. And there was a goddamn sign on the door proclaiming it closed until further notice. She’ll be good to us.”  
Sam snorted and Caitlin was caught between indignation and amusement at the gender specific personification of a car..  
“You _steal_ cars?”  
“Only because someone thinks it’s unwise to drive my Baby, after making #2 on FBI’s most wanted list,” Dean pouted. Realizing how that might sound, he continued hurriedly: “Forget about a reward, we’re officially dead now.” Caitlin frowned.  
“You know you have to tell me how that happened now, don’t you?” They all climbed in, Sam riding shotgun as usual and Caitlin in the back.  
“Easy,” Dean said with an air of casualness as he started the car. “Shapeshifting monsters went on a killing spree looking like us.” 

Caitlin wasn’t sure how to react to Dean’s explanation, as he sped through the city, headed for the haunted building.  
“Uhm, does that happen often?” she ended up asking, wondering if she had put her money on the wrong horse when officer Windle showed up.  
“It’s only the second time,” Dean grinned. “But then there was the time when a demon chick rode Sammy for a week, and...”  
“Dean, shut up!” Sam was gripping his knees tightly and his brother stopped smiling.  
“Sorry Sam, I know that sucked.” Dean managed to look genuinely bashful.  
“I’m starting to see why you’re so worried about me,” she managed weakly. _‘What have I gotten myself into?’_ she wondered to herself. The FBI most wanted comment had sparked a memory; Caitlin didn’t usually watch the news, but there had been something going on a few months ago, that had everyone on campus gossiping. Serial killers. Winchesters. She fought hard to keep her breathing relatively normal. 

They passed the haunted building to park at a nearby grocery store. Turning the key, Dean looked at Caitlin in the rear view mirror.  
“You should go home and freshen up a bit. I don’t think we need someone calling the police again, while we look for a dead body.”  
“Right,” she said, relief evident in her voice. “I’ll just run home and meet you guys back here.” Caitlin opened the door. “DON’T follow me,” she cautioned them, as she slid out of the car and jogged across the road.  
“She’s more paranoid than Frank,” Dean muttered.  
“No one is more paranoid than Frank,” Sam countered. “But she’s up there alright. Minus the part where she trusts us.” 

Dean snorted.  
“Does she now, Sammy? I don’t know, man.”  
“What do you mean?” Sam scrunched up his face, for once not following his brother’s thoughts.  
“You saw her freak out this morning, didn’t you? You know, she didn’t even let me help her up after that ghost nearly choked the life out of her. Something’s not right with her, Sam.”  
“I’m not sure I follow? What’s your point?”  
“I think we should follow her.” Dean yanked the keys from the ignition, and opened the door. “You coming?” Sam followed suit with a sigh.

It wasn’t easy to follow Caitlin. She wasn’t taking the straight route home and even if she didn’t think she was being followed, she still checked behind her now and again. Thankfully, they had tailed enough possible monsters and victims to keep up without being seen, even as she kept them on their toes.  
“Dean, why are we doing this? You don’t think she’s a monster, do you?” Sam asked. He was trying hard to ignore Lucifer, who waited around every corner to say: “Boo, she’ll see you.”

Dean seemed to consider it as he peered around a corner, quickly retracting his head as he saw Caitlin fifty yards ahead, crossing the street.  
“No, I guess not. But, dude, she’s _weird_.”  
“You’re weird. I’m weird. What’s wrong with weird?” Sam suddenly had an epiphany. “This is about her not being interested in fucking you, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s about her manhandling a policeman? Or is it about her telling you what to do?”  
“NO! Shuddup, Sammy.” 

Sam grabbed hold of his brother and yanked him backwards.  
“Let’s just go back to the car.”  
Dean shook himself loose.   
“No,” he said, jogging towards the corner where he saw Caitlin turn right. “I wanna know what’s up with her, Sam. She’s not gonna tell us.”  
“Because it’s none of our business.” Sam stopped and Dean ignored him, continuing on his path. “Dean, I’m going back.” His brother threw him a dismissive wave as he rounded the corner. Sam returned and found a cafe close to the car. 

Dean stayed hot on Caitlin’s trail until she entered a building. He entered silently after a few minutes, carefully examining the names of the inhabitants of each apartment. He paused shortly at ‘C. Smith’ before knocking on the door across the hall. An elderly lady opened the door carefully ajar, a chain lock still in place preventing the door from being opened further.  
“I’m sorry,” Dean said apologetically, “I was wondering if you knew the woman living across the hall? I was supposed to meet her, but she’s not answering her door or her phone. Maybe you’ve seen her today?” The woman gave him a suspicious glare.  
“She never has visitors. Go away before I call the police,” she simply said before closing and locking her door. Dean sighed. So much for a little friendly chat with Caitlin’s neighbor to try to unearth what it was she wasn’t telling them herself. 

He tried to think of anything else he could do without being found out, now that he was here. Nothing came to mind that wouldn’t risk making her distrust him forever. But wasn’t that a good thing? If that happened, she would leave him and Sam and the supernatural well alone. She would be safe. His hands shaking a little, he drew out his set of lock picks.  
Caitlin went through her usual criss-crossing route without noticing anything off. Entering her apartment, she immediately pulled out her laptop and searched ‘Winchester killings’. Her blood ran cold at the headlines it conjured. The body count neared thirty people, the footage was gruesome; and she could spot no difference between the men on her screen and the men she had spent the last day with. Only, she was alone and unharmed and according to the news, these men had been dead for months. 

Reluctantly she tried another search: shapeshifter, and pressed the wiki-link out of habit. Skipping over the modern tales, she read about how common it actually was for people in old days to believe in beings able to transform their appearance at will, as well as all the other possibilities listed. Maybe Dean and Sam had been reading too much stuff like this. Or maybe they had it right: If there was a myth, there was a truth. She wrote ‘Supernatural’ in the search bar, but all the results were about some book series. ‘Monsters’ she tried. Movies and Dungeons and Dragons resources. She blew a stray lock of hair from her face. This was going to be difficult on her own.

She tried one last time: ‘supernatural creatures’. Then she sighed deeply; there was no way she would ever find out on her own which creatures existed, how to recognize them, and how to kill them. She found clean clothes and got into the shower, while she mentally tried to prepare herself to go back to the twilight zone. Instead memories washed over her as she stood under the spray of warm water, memories swallowed her up and tore her apart. She sank to the floor and curled in on herself, her tears mixing with water. 

Oblivious to how long she was lost in the past, she finally managed to make herself think about the escape. Of standing, freezing at the side of the road, frantically trying to determine the gender of the drivers early enough to either hide or hitch. Of Sarah, the woman who became her savior. Sarah was just going home after grocery shopping but she drove Caitlin four towns over and gave her three hundred dollars. She said goodbye to her outside the bus station; said it was better if she didn’t know where Caitlin went from there. 

When Caitlin came back to the present, the spray from the shower hit her as hard and cold as the rain had, when she had gotten off that bus, alone, terrified and relieved in equal measure, sixteen years old and only a hundred dollars to her name; a name she had left behind to become invisible, to become Ms. Smith. Caitlin’s teeth chattered and her body was shivering violently but she was too exhausted to get up and turn off the spray. Images from the last twenty four hours flashed before her eyes, and she couldn’t shut them down. Loud gasps and sobs clawed their way from her chest and out her mouth, as she lay shaking in the ice cold water.


	10. The Heat of the Moment

Dean had waited in her hallway as she went into the bathroom. He had spent some time exploring, looking through her stuff. He had realized that she was a student, and had a pretty good idea what she was studying. He figured that meant she was wicked smart like Sam. She had no photos of friends or family, no childhood trophies, nothing that spoke of a life before she had moved into this apartment and dedicated herself to an academic goal. 

Everything was spotless clean and meticulously in order. He had a feeling that even if he left before she came out from her bath, she would guess someone had been there, though he didn’t really touch anything. He hadn’t meant to snoop too much, just give her a scare to make sure she’d stay away from them, but she was in the shower forever. Out of habit, he began to search for a diary. His fingers brushed across a book cover under her bed, and he pulled it out, hands shaking slightly. It was a photo album with idyllic family photos. He recognized Caitlin, baby, toddler, first day of school with her dark hair in adorable pigtails and a bright smile shining through decades, making his gut clench. Because somehow he knew that she hadn’t smiled like that for a very long time. He turned back a few pages and realized there was a gap. There she was, three or so, and there she was, rucksack held proudly, smile sparkling. He glanced at the remaining pictures; her father was missing from every single one of them. Dean sighed, wondering if the man had skipped out on his family or died. Only a few more pages remained; the last picture was of a tombstone.

**‘Lillian Stevenson, beloved wife and mother, 1962-1993 Mark Stevenson, beloved husband and father, 1960-1988’**

Dean was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Caitlin had been an orphan since she was around seven, when he heard her in the bathroom; his eyes went wide at the sound of her broken sobs. The sound was as hopeless as the damned souls on the racks in hell, and he did what he could to banish those memories and the nausea that always accompanied them. 

He shoved the album back, and ran to knock at the door, everything else forgotten but Caitlin’s well being.  
“Hey, kid, you okay?” he asked, not sure what would happen. Silence wasn’t on his list, everything gone still the second he spoke.  
“Caitlin, if you don’t tell me you’re okay, I’ll be bustin’ down the door in ten seconds,” he said, bracing himself. When she still didn’t answer, he tried the door and found it unlocked. She was lying in the shower, and the room wasn’t steamy as expected but ice cold. Her eyes were open but glazed over. For a terrifying second he thought she was dead, until he saw her chest heaving in time with her quickened and shallow breaths. He put his hand under the spray and cursed, turning it off. He found a towel, dragged her out of the water and wrapped her in it. 

Dean carried Caitlin to her bed, her body hanging limp in his arms the whole way, unlike the night before when she leaned her head against his shoulder. He piled all the blankets he could find on top of her before stripping to his boxers and climbing under there too. He didn’t care how violated this would make her feel; she was hypothermic and if she didn’t get warm soon, she could die or suffer brain damage. As his arms pulled her flush against his body, she stiffened, her eyes finally coming to life, if only to look at him in utter horror.  
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he told her soothingly, “I’m helping you get warm again. I’m just gonna stay with you, just like this, until you get better. You gotta trust me.” 

Caitlin couldn’t really think or feel anything after the initial shock of Dean bursting into her bathroom. When she registered a male body, warm and naked next to hers, her bathroom and Dean was long forgotten. She had no memory of where she was and she waited for the inevitable, until he spoke softly. She inhaled his scent, listened to his words, and let the darkness of dreamless sleep wash over her.

When consciousness reared its ugly head next, she was shivering so bad, she thought she might fall out of her bed. That’s when she noticed the arm slung around her waist, holding her down; she panicked.  
“Please,” she heard a gravelly voice next to her say, “don’t castrate me or anything, but I’m not letting you go yet. You need to get warm, kid.”  
She felt his warmth seeping into her side, and slowly turned her head to face him. Dean. While his hand didn’t allow her to move, it wasn’t moving either. She realized that, while she was unclothed, a thin cotton sheet was wrapped around her. 

“You wanna talk about why you were trying to drown yourself in your shower?” Dean asked her, when she didn’t promptly kick him in the nuts. Caitlin drew in a ragged, shaking breath, her teeth chattering as she shook her head.  
“That’s not what happened,” she stuttered angrily. Dean raised an eyebrow, indicating she should go on. She lowered her eyes, catching the curve of his shoulder and bicep and a glimpse of his black boxer briefs. Feeling her cheeks burn hotly, she met his eyes again.  
“I don’t want to talk about it.”  
“I’ve known you for less than twenty four hours and you’ve nearly died three times. How the hell did you live to turn twenty?”  
“Without help,” she ground out and noticed the hurt flash in his eyes before he hid it. “I didn’t mean that I‘ve been fine because I hadn’t met you,” she sighed, breath shaky from her full-body shivering. “I mean I had no one, and I had to manage on my own.” 

Caitlin clamped her mouth shut and tried to stop the rattling sound of her teeth.  
“Sorry,” Dean said. “Can I.. Can I hug you a bit tighter, I think you’d get warm faster if you’d let me.” His carefully casual tone made Caitlin snort.  
“I’m also sure I’d get warm faster if you fucked me, but try anything and I _will_ castrate you.” Dean’s face split in an easy grin, the fine lines at his eyes crinkling. It was so cheeky and innocent at the same time that Caitlin couldn’t hold back a small smile herself. Tired of shivering, she even burrowed herself a little closer to his heat.

Awakening for the third time, Caitlin’s mind was clear; her body was pleasantly warm, and the man snoring lightly next to her had a hell of a lot to explain. He mumbled sleepily when she crawled out from under his arm, the sheet kept tight around her. She hurriedly found a new set of clothes and went to the bathroom to change. She opened the door and gasped at the cold still emanating from the room; she remembered remembering. She stood frozen on the doorstep, unable to make herself continue. Time passed without her participation once again, until behind her, Dean coughed to let his presence be known. Her body tensed as she understood that she was trapped and she spun around to face him.

“Get out!” she told him, voice shaking with anger. Dean stared at her incredulously, only to glance down at himself. She couldn’t care less this moment that he was still only in his boxers. He had followed her, he had broken into her home. He had entered her bathroom while she was showering, he had slept next to her while she was naked. He had crossed so many lines that she wished she could have just died in her shower instead of living through it.  
“OUT!”  
“Can I at least get my clo-”  
“NO! You follow me, you break into MY home and now I have to find a new place two weeks from the mid term and I don’t even have a JOB!” Caitlin said, advancing in a predatory manner that had Dean backing up slowly. She reached behind him and opened the door, and gave him a final push before slamming it in his face.

Dean barely managed to move his head enough to avoid getting his nose broken. He looked around him furtively and drew a relieved breath that he seemed to be alone. That little adventure sure hadn’t gone as planned. He put his hands softly on the door, regretting the fact that his phone was behind it as well. Not that Sammy wouldn’t let him suffer unnecessarily long before bringing him a new set of clothes anyway. He had just turned to start his walk of shame, intending to knock on doors until someone agreed to lend him a phone, when the door behind him opened and his clothes were thrust upon him. Caitlin slammed the door again and he was thankful of the two ft distance between him and the accursed thing this time. 

Elsewhere in the building, a door opened and closed and he hurriedly began dressing. He was barefoot and only halfway in his T-shirt when a mother and her preschool daughter appeared on the stairs above him. He tried his best to become one with the wall, but of course the girl had to ask.  
“Mom, what’s that man doing?” The mother gave him a dirty grin.  
“It looks to me as if he’s getting dressed, honey,” she told her daughter. Dean didn’t know whether to smile flirtatiously or scowl, and stayed put by the wall until they had passed. He heard the woman continue to laugh until the main door closed behind them.   
"Sonofabitch," he muttered to himself, feeling decidedly cranky.


	11. Growing Cold

Caitlin counted to ten inside her head while she focused on breathing slowly. She imagined her lungs as a cave that air was rushing through, ebbing and flowing like a tide. It was a trick from her martial arts practice, meant to ground her and let her emotions wash over her without affecting her judgment. She got dressed, carefully wrapped a scarf around her neck to hide the bruises, picked up Dean’s phone, some essentials for herself, and opened her front door. He was leaning against the wall across the hall as if he didn’t have a care in the world. 

“Catch,” she said and threw his phone at him. At least his scramble to grab it out of the air got rid of his superior attitude.  
“Hey! Those aren’t free!”  
“Does that matter when you steal everything you need?”  
“If it didn’t, I couldn’t call myself the good guy anymore,” Dean grumbled, turning to follow her down the stairs. Caitlin smiled to herself. In some sick and twisted kind of way that actually made sense to her.  
“So, you’re really going to insist on helping us gank this ghost?” he asked her resignedly, as they exited the building.  
“Yeah, I really am. But first you’re going to tell me something. Why?”  
“Why what?” Dean’s confusion angered her, but she kept her face neutral.   
“Why the fuck did you follow me home when I specifically told you not to?”

“Language, young lady,” Dean tried to tease her. Caitlin spun around to push him against the brick wall next to them. Her anger, the murderous look in her eyes, and her powerful grip all took him by surprise. He let her stare him down, even as she was looking up at him. The bricks dug into his back uncomfortably but he didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed. “I shouldn’t have. I just.. I was hoping it’d piss you off enough to leave us alone, okay?” Caitlin frowned at him.  
“Christ, you’re damaged!” she ground out as she let him go. “I’m not safe from monsters if I can’t fight them, am I? I just want to learn how to protect myself. How does that turn into me not being safe inside that big head of yours?”

Dean carefully brushed himself off where he could reach, shifting away from the wall.  
“Because once you know, you can’t leave it alone. They won’t leave you alone. Once you know, you’re a goddamned target!” he growled. Caitlin’s eyes narrowed.  
“At least I won’t be a defenseless target,” she hissed, her breath fanning over his face. She turned from him and started walking again, fast enough that Dean had to run a couple of steps to catch up with her.

Sam sat in the café, enjoying the benefit of free wifi and did general research while picking at his salad. It had been a couple of hours since Dean texted him: ‘Yoko, stand down.’ which meant that something completely unexpected had happened and would delay him considerably; and that Sam didn’t have to come running to rescue his brother’s ass. Realistically, Sam knew it probably meant a booty call; but all things considered, Sam found that hard to believe. It was hard to enjoy the spare time suddenly on his hands as Lucifer wasted no time telling him that Dean was actually in really big trouble. Lucifer went on and on about how Dean didn’t want Sam’s help, didn’t trust him anymore. Pressing the scar and focusing on the rather gruesome murders that had drawn them to Seattle, Sam managed to distract himself for almost two hours. The worry for his brother eventually kept overshadowing his train of thought on whether the deaths were due to humans, Leviathans, or something else entirely.

Images of Dean hurt or captured or god forbid it dead kept assaulting Sam. He hardly bothered pressing the palm of his hand at all, since it only lasted a few minutes until Lucifer was back. Just as it was becoming unbearable, his phone buzzed with another message.  
“Will be a couple hours more until I can leave.” He breathed a huge sigh of relief and went back to the case with renewed vigor. It was definitely not Leviathans and it really didn’t match up to something even the sickest humans would do. They needed to suit up and look at the evidence as soon as Caitlin’s salt ’n burn had been taken care of.

He was noting the names of the investigating officers and the morgue the bodies had been brought to, when the door to the café opened. He glanced up reflexively and saw Dean, Caitlin right behind him. She was looking even worse for wear than she had this morning. A scarf hid the bruises around her neck, but she was pale as a sheet, had deep blue lines under her eyes matched by the bluish tinge to her lips, and her eyes were red and swollen.

“What hap..” Sam caught himself speaking too loudly, trying to be heard over Lucifer’s constant yammering. He felt the other patrons stare at them. Flustered, he packed his laptop and got ready to leave.  
“We’re just gonna get something to go, be with you in a sec,” Dean said to him. Sam hated the pained expression on his brother’s face, as if Dean somehow knew why he had spoken too loudly.

Leaving the place laden with food boxes, Caitlin almost couldn’t bring herself to look at Sam. It was horrifying enough that Dean knew, had seen her so weak; something she never let _anyone_ get the chance to witness. Now Sam would get to hear about it too.

Outside, Sam stopped and looked expectantly at the two of them.  
“What happened?” he asked, tone normal this time. Dean looked at Caitlin, who was staring at the ground in front of her. He was familiar with that stance, hell, he was king of it himself, wasn’t he? Shameful. He had an outstanding opportunity right now to help her out, make her feel a little better. All he had to do was lie a little, omit a few truths. Nothing he hadn’t done before. But it was less than fifteen minutes ago that she pushed him against a wall and yelled at him. It was less than twenty five minutes ago that he stood almost naked in a stairwell. Dean wasn’t really feeling particularly generous.  
“It looks like Caitlin has a serious death wish, because I had to stop her from dying. Again.”

Sam looked at the two of them in disbelief. Caitlin was obviously upset and Dean wasn’t just trying to diffuse the situation with humor, he was being a complete asshole. He reached out a hand towards Caitlin’s shoulder and watched her flinch away; heard Lucifer laughing about it and mocking him. Caitlin started to walk towards the car, eyes still on the ground in front of her. Sam cut ahead of her and turned around, bending down to look her in the eyes.  
“Caitlin,” he said softly, “Don’t mind my asshole brother. Are you okay?”  
His movement had forced her to stop, and now she was staring at him, blinking rapidly.  
“Peachy,” she mumbled and walked around him. Sam glared at his older brother, who might not be Dr. Phil on the best of days, but this was an all time low, even for Dean.  
Dean glared right back, mimicking a resounding _‘What?’_ at Sam.


	12. We're Professionals

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean said as they got back to the car. “Since you couldn’t find the exact apartment the guy lived in, and the landlord that owned the building back then is dead, we gotta suit up and clear the whole building.” Sam nodded his assent.   
“What is the plan exactly?” Caitlin asked. Dean deliberately let his gaze wander across the ramshackle buildings and the graffiti.  
“I think the easiest way to get people out is to warn a raid on a possible meth lab.” He opened the trunk and threw a bag at Sam before grabbing his own.   
“See you in a bit, Sw... “ Dean didn’t bother replacing the abandoned endearment, and simply walked away with a scowl on his face.

Something prickled behind Caitlin’s eyelids as she watched them walk away. She turned away from them and focused on what she was about to do. She was voluntarily going back inside a building where she could have died last night. She was knowingly returning to a place where she was very likely to be attacked again; and she was doing so with two men for backup, who were officially dead serial killers. Shapeshifting monsters considered, that was besides the point, of course. The fact that one of them was almost definitely certifiable and the other a total douchebag wasn’t. 

Her hands curled into tight fists as she thought about Dean. Last night he had been a gentleman through and through, except for the argument in the car. But today… She couldn’t find words to describe his actions today. Following her home, breaking into her apartment while she was in the shower, snooping around in her things, intruding in her only safe haven uninvited. Saving her from herself, carrying her, wrapping her in a sheet, lying nearly naked next to her for hours in her own bed. Right now, she couldn’t wait to be on her own again, capable of defending herself from all things supernatural.

She turned at the sound of footsteps getting closer and grinned. The brothers’ body language signalled equal amounts of practiced ease and awkward discomfort as they walked towards her in their cheap suits.   
“You clean up nicely, boys,” she smiled, “but I still don’t see how you’re going to make people leave their homes.” Dean exchanged a quick glance with Sam and they nodded almost imperceptibly at each other. With nearly perfect synchronicity they each flipped a badge at her.  
“Special Agent Smith,” Dean smirked.  
“Special Agent Smith. No relation” Sam continued. “Care to follow us, ma'am?”   
“Isn’t impersonating federal agents illegal?” Caitlin’s smile faded and her eyes widened. If she hadn’t known better they would have fooled her, and that meant that anyone else could put on a convincing act and do whatever they wanted, pretending to be the _law_. 

Dean scowled at Caitlin. There with the judging again. Why couldn’t she see that they were _helping_?   
“So is strangling people,” he said harshly and immediately cursed himself as he heard Sam’s sharp intake of breath. Before he could think of a way to talk himself out of his spectacular blunder, Caitlin reached a hand out to touch Sam’s elbow lightly and gave him a genuine smile. Dean tried to swallow around a lump in his throat and strode ahead quickly, not so much unwilling as unable to form an apology to Sam.

Sam frowned as he watched his brother race ahead of them. Lucifer showed up again and told him that Dean hated him, couldn’t stand his guts. Sam pressed his hand hard, letting memories of the past couple of years flood his mind. Lucifer was wrong, of course he was. Sam shook it off so he could prepare Caitlin for what was to come.   
“So get this,” he told her, “we’ll have to get people out of the building so we can search for the body without getting interrupted. We’ll tell them the police will raid a meth lab and it will be safer for them not to be around.”  
“Where do I fit into this?” Caitlin asked.  
“You can wait in the car until people are out,” Sam said. Caitlin gave him a look that in no uncertain way expressed her feelings about that particular notion.  
“Alright, then you’re um, you’re our consultant. A chemist, helping to collect evidence. How does that sound?”   
“Acceptable,” Caitlin amended with a small smile.

Caitlin was still thoroughly creeped out by how professional and convincing the brothers were, posing as concerned FBI-agents. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as they went from apartment to apartment, politely asking people to find entertainment outside their safe homes for the next four hours. She was in on this now, she was just as guilty as them. Slowly she became less anxious and more thrilled. After all, they weren’t doing this to harm anyone, they were trying to make the building safe again. They were _helping_.

Most of the tenants received the unexpected visit with a civil dignity that spoke volumes of the nature of the neighborhood. As if this was what to expect any given Saturday afternoon. Some bitched and argued but never much before quieting down and following their request of leaving.  
One elderly man, however, proved to be a serious pain. He stood in front of them, supported by a crooked cane, wearing jeans and a tattered old plaid shirt and a baseball cap. A goddamn baseball cap, Dean thought, as the man gave them a piece of his mind.  
“How’d I know there’ll be a home when I git back? You idjits’re prob’ly gonna blow up the whole neighborhood. Would look better too, but it’s my home. I ain’t leaving.” Dean stared open mouthed at the guy. Rarely had the grief hit him so hard and sudden, a wish to see the real Bobby Singer greeting him in his gruff manner overwhelming him. Next to him, Sam was pressing his hand hard, opening and closing his eyes as if not believing what they told him.

Something was wrong, Caitlin could tell as much. When others had voiced concerns, one of the brothers had been quick to offer comfort and assure the worried tenants that nothing would happen. This time, they both stood frozen to the spot, apparently unable to move or speak. 

“Sir,” she said as she stepped in front of the brothers. “We understand your concerns, which is why I am here. I will be able to neutralize any danger of explosions within less than a minute, once I get access to the lab. Your home will still be here when you get back, but it is imperative that the building is empty to ensure that there are no possible hostages available.” She fought to keep her breathing even after her long rant, and to keep her face as neutral as possible. She was lying to some old guy, who was simply concerned about his home. _‘How despicable can I get? How often did someone justify their actions as means to an end, a little bad for the greater good, only to become harshly judged by history?’_ she thought. But she was helplessly caught up in Winchester logic; and thus she kept a level gaze at the old man, who eyed her suspiciously.

“Bullshit,” he finally muttered, removing his cap only to smooth his pitiful few stray hairs and put it back on. “If something’s gonna blow, you ain’t got a snowball’s chance in hell to stop it before it goes boom.” He put his hands at his hips and looked at her accusingly. “It’s clear as day you don’t know jack shit about explosives, little girl.” Caitlin forgot all about her musings on ethics, and got right in the man’s face, her finger tapping his chest as she spoke.  
“Don’t you _dare_ ‘little girl’ me, _sir_. I’ve been _nothing_ but polite and you should at _least_ be able to return the favor.” She stepped back a little and continued in a softer voice. “You might have blown up a bridge or five in a war or two half a century ago, and all respect to you for that. But today I’m the expert. When I tell you I’ll be able to stop an explosion it’s because I am. It might not be pretty and it might destroy the evidence, but you have my word that your home has higher priority than half finished drugs.” The man gave her a wide eyed stare.  
“I’ll be on my way in a minute,” he said and closed the door in their faces. 

Caitlin turned to find both brothers staring at her, no longer dead frozen, but still open mouthed.  
“What?” she asked them, carefully not showing how gratified their disbelieving expressions made her feel. “It’s not like you guys were saying anything.” Dean swallowed visibly.  
“Remind me never to play poker with you,” he gruffly managed, before moving to the next door.


	13. Ghost Whisperer

It had been three hours, one spent driving the tenants out and two picking locks and searching apartments using a blinking walkman Dean referred to as an EMF-meter. Sam had searched the basement and moved on to the attic without finding any signs of paranormal activities. He had now moved to stand in the entrance hallway where the ghost had attacked Caitlin, warning off anyone returning home early to stay out a little longer.

Dean had grudgingly agreed to let Caitlin pick the locks; he had a hard time deciding whether to be pissed or proud at how fast she picked that particular skill up.  
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” he asked her after she deftly managed to open a door as fast as he could have done it himself. She stopped dead in her tracks, inhaling sharply.  
“No. Yeah. Maybe,” she said, before her eyes fell shut and her knees gave out underneath her. Instinctively, Dean reached out and grabbed her shoulders, preventing her from tumbling limply to the floor. Eyes suddenly wide open and staring emptily at him, Caitlin pushed herself away, hyperventilating.  
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

Caitlin watched Dean’s jaw clench and expected an angry remark but he kept silent. Flashes of memories still flickered in her mind, threatening to take her back to that time. _‘No more,’_ she thought to herself. _‘I can’t go back there again today.’_ She tried to push the image of the padlock on the fridge away. If they were unhappy with her, they would lock it while they were gone. Good thing she did all the cooking or they would have figured out she knew how to open it. She managed to flash forward to her escape before memories of reasons for them to lock the fridge surfaced. Coming back to the here and now, she expected Dean to be watching her impatiently, but instead she found him staring at something behind her. The goosebumps on her arms and neck and the small cloud her exhalation turned into made her spin. The ghost was no prettier this time around as it reached out towards her.

She managed to dodge the grasping hands with a quick step backwards only to bump into Dean, catching him off-balance as he was about to launch an attack. The impact sent him stumbling further away as the ghost closed the distance. It’s cold fingers wrapped around Caitlin’s neck, the contusions from the night before screaming in protest. Before the grip tightened enough to choke her, Dean recovered and swung the crowbar over his head and rammed it through the top of the ghost’s head down through it’s body before he stopped it’s momentum. Gasping, Caitlin watched the ghost dissipate into the air before she locked eyes with Dean, both of them breathing heavily; Dean’s eyes serious and his stance alert. 

Adrenaline rushing through her, Caitlin surveyed the room, noticing that the room didn’t mirror the others they had searched. A wall that no sane architect would have ever facilitated split the room in two. She pointed Dean towards it, while she bent down to pick up the shotgun with salt pellets from the duffel next to the door. He pulled the EMF out again as she positioned herself at the front door where she could easily observe the room and the hallway.

The EMF bleeped and eeped insistently as Dean ran the sensor across the out-of-place wall. He walked to the end and realized that it was a lot thicker than an ordinary partition wall; thick enough that they could in fact be staring at the old cliché of a body hidden inside a wall. His head was spinning different scenarios on how to salt and burn the body without alerting authorities or destroying too much property, when he felt the cold only an instant before his throat was squeezed shut. His eyes shot over to Caitlin, hoping for help, only to find her turned away and looking out the front door. 

Dean kicked the wall as the edges of his vision began to blur, not yet because of lack of oxygen but because of the sheer pressure on his neck; Caitlin’s head whipped around and without hesitation, she pumped the gun while stepping a few feet to the right to avoid hitting him. The gunshot echoed, and Dean wheezed heavenly air into his lungs, his ears ringing from the gunshot.  
“You okay?” Caitlin asked him, and he could almost imagine her grabbing a flashlight and checking his pupils; the once over she gave him was that intense.  
“Yeah,” he croaked. “ ‘m fine. Thanks,” he added with a nod.   
It had been a nice shot and effective moves, if credit should go where it was due. She gravely returned the nod.  
“Of course,” she said softly as if it had been nothing more than passing the salt. Dean cocked an eyebrow and swore to himself that he was never going to make sense of her reactions to the world. Caitlin mirrored the expression as if to say _‘damned straight, you won’t.’_ Dean shook his head as he heard Bobby’s voice in the back of his mind, clear as day. _‘Best get your head back in the game, son, this is a case not a hook-up.’_

Caitlin’s heart beat loud enough that she barely heard Dean’s thanks. At least this time, she hadn’t been the one feeling the icy chill around her neck. How long before the next attack? What to do about a body inside a wall? It would definitely take a long time to dig it out using the crowbar. Then her skin began to prickle in anticipation and she knew the ghost was coming again.   
“Stop,” Caitlin yelled, as the grayish figure appeared next to Dean, who had been lost in thought. “We know what happened to you. We know where you are.” The ghost seemed to hesitate, as Dean backed away from it. Caitlin continued. “We can find out who did this to you. We can tell your family what happened, let them know you didn’t leave them on purpose.”

Slowly the figure turned towards her, unthreateningly, its arms resting at its sides. Color seemed to seep in from everywhere, erasing the bullet hole and the discoloring at its neck, even as Caitlin for the first time noticed how the ghost had marks that matched her own. A man in his mid forties stood before them, a sad, serene smile on his now unscarred face. Then he dissipated as he had before, in a soundless explosion of light and colors. Afterwards, the atmosphere of the room seemed brighter and more cheerful.

“Hah,” Dean whooped with a fist pump in the air. Caitlin felt her heart skip a beat; because of the whole ghost disappearing thing, obviously. Not because Dean looked carefree, innocent, and boyish when he smiled like that.  
“You’re a natural,” Dean told her. “Our very own Melinda Gordon.” She smiled back at him tentatively, and suddenly he remembered that the two of them had been at odds most of the day. He rubbed his neck, unsure of what to say. She spoke first.  
“I’m a very hungry Melinda,” she said with that crooked, half-sad smile of hers. “How about we clean up our mess and find some food?”  
“Yeah,” Dean agreed, throwing the crowbar into the duffel. “Yeah that sounds like a plan.”


	14. Dinner

Back at the car, Caitlin drew a deep sigh before telling the brothers about the plan she had concocted on the way back.  
“How about we shop for real food? I’ll cook it while you empty your stuff from that rat trap you’ve been slumming in, and you can bunk in the living room.”  
Both men stared at her in disbelief.  
“You’ll let us sleep in your apartment, after… well, everything?” Sam asked her.  
“Since you already know where it is, I won’t be staying there for much longer any way,” she sighed. “I told you, no one can know where I live. I’ll have to find some other place in a week or two. And since you guys will be telling me everything you know about fighting monsters, we might as well be somewhere with electricity, wifi and running water.”

They bought provisions to last them a couple of days, dividing what was needed for tonight’s dinner into a bag of its own, so Caitlin wouldn’t have to carry too much. Then Dean made an anonymous phone call from a payphone to inform the police that a thermal camera sweep of a certain apartment had left him dumbfounded as it showed a human shaped hole in the insulation in a partition wall. After that, the brothers left to clean out their ragtag temporary ‘home’ while Caitlin walked to her apartment to start cooking.

> Mrs. Davies watched the two men through her peephole, her cordless phone in her hand. That trailer trash cheeky man who had enquired about sweet Ms. Smith earlier was back again, and he had company. It had certainly not evaded Mrs. Davies attention that the man had somehow ended up in the hallway in a state of despicable undress earlier. How, was quite a mystery, since she had never heard a knock on the door next to hers; she was convinced that he had forced his way into her poor neighbor’s home. Good thing Ms. Smith could handle herself and had made him leave. Why she went with him a little later, though, Mrs. Davies could not guess. Was he back now with a friend, to perhaps make some kind of retaliation against Ms. Smith? 

> Mrs. Davies watched the men carefully, as they tentatively knocked on the door in front of them. She relaxed a little and berated herself for being paranoid; they wouldn’t wear suits if they were planning something violent. She watched the door open and Ms. Smith happily beckon the two men inside. Mrs. Davies tried hard to make sense of the day’s events and could find no possible plausible explanation. Frustrated, she poured herself a glass of cheap red wine, and turned on the TV with the volume at maximum capacity. Curiosity might have killed the cat; at least _she_ would wake up again sometime tomorrow with one hell of a hangover. 

Dean felt more than a little awkward being back in Caitlin’s small apartment, but this time he was invited; this time there was food. Actually, judging by the smell assaulting his nostrils as the door opened, there was delicious food and after months of roughing it, he couldn’t wait to taste a home cooked meal. Caitlin’s cheeks were a little rosy after standing by the hot stove and she smiled at them both, as if they were honored guests. It was very nice and also really confusing; because up until now he could have sworn she (not so) secretly hated his guts. 

Not that the feeling wasn’t mutual most of the time, if he was honest with himself. They had wasted a whole day on her and a simple salt and burn. Yeah, okay maybe it wasn’t that simple, but they were already here to waste time on Sam’s stupid case instead of dealing with their real problem. Dean inhaled again and felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards at the smell of rosemary and roasted chicken. Oh hell, there was food, it was no time to moan and bitch about what he couldn’t do anything about anyway.

Sam helped set the table, and soon they were eating, Dean praising the food in flowery phrases, all uttered with his mouth full. It was exasperating, Sam thought. As if growing up the way they did excused Dean from simple table manners. Lucifer helpfully pointed out how Dean would probably die choking on a piece of meat someday, the way he ate. ‘Again,’ Lucifer added at Sam’s carefully neutral expression. Sam’s appetite was as good as gone, the food ashen in his mouth. It took all his self control to keep eating and smile at Caitlin to nod his agreement with Dean.  
“We really appreciate this,” he told her. “I mean everything. Real food, being able to take a warm shower. It’s been a tough couple of months.”  
Caitlin simply nodded. 

“We uhm, we actually got you something. Sam thought we should bring flowers, but I talked him into something more practical,” Dean admitted. One eyebrow raised, Caitlin waited while he went and found a box the size of a medical encyclopedia. It only weighed about the quarter of a book, and Caitlin opened it with no idea of what to expect. It was a knife, almost the size of her forearm. The handle was wrapped in brown leather, the double edged blade shone as if made of silver, curly mystical signs adorned the middle. She lifted it out of the box cautiously and tested its edges and balance. ‘Craftsmanship,’ she thought. 

She caught Dean’s eyes.  
“It’s silver,” he said. “Works on weres and shifters. Practical.”  
“It might be a bit more practical with this to go with it,” Sam smirked next to his brother and set something next to the box on the table. It was a leather scabbard on a length of string; Caitlin immediately saw the amplitude of ways it could be attached to her clothing or body, depending on whether she wanted to achieve stealth or quick access to the knife.  
“Of course, silver also kills humans just as well as steel, so be careful with it,” Dean cautioned. Caitlin was speechless. She twirled the knife lovingly in her hand a couple of times before reverently sliding it into the scabbard. Then she caught the look on Dean’s face, as if he had seen a ghost. Well, as if he was any other sane normal person who had just seen a ghost, at least.

“What’s wrong?” Caitlin asked him, but Dean was lost in the past. He was always so careful not to think about Jo if he could help it. When the memory of how she and Ellen died sometimes hit him hard, he would go on a bender. How was he supposed to deal with another game of _‘what if... would they be alive then’_ on top of everything else? 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he finally managed to find the words.  
“Please don’t twirl the knife like that.” He refrained from saying ‘ever again’ to mirror Caitlin’s own words that same morning.  
“Dean, what the fuck?” she said hotly. “I get that you have issues but are you in or out? If you’re still against helping me learn, why give me the knife in the first place? I’m not going to hurt myself with it, you know.”  
And wasn’t that just the pickle on the sandwich, her interpreting his reaction as misguided concern for her safety; Dean could almost see Jo standing right in front of him, not letting him get away with any shit. That particular feature obviously held true for Caitlin too. He shook his head slowly.  
“So not the point,” he said, his voice raw with everything. “Just gave me a blast from the past. ‘s nothing. Forget it.” He caught Sam’s eyes and received a solid hand on his shoulder. Sam knew.

“We need to prepare for the case tomorrow,” Sam said, effectively changing the subject. “I’ll look into it tonight, see what I can dig up on the net.”  
“You have another case?” Caitlin asked.  
“Yeah,” Sam said, “that’s why we came to Seattle. There’s been some grisly murders that look suspicious.” Dean inhaled deeply, as if getting ready to start their argument over, but he didn’t say anything.  
“Oh,” Caitlin said, a little disappointed. “I was hoping you could teach me about monsters and research. I mean, I tried earlier today and there was just so much on the Internet. How do you even know what’s real and what’s bull?” The question had Sam chuckling.  
“We usually go at it the other way around,” he admitted. “We study the victims of the monster and form a theory based on its MO. _Then_ we research.”  
“So what do you think is going on here in Seattle?”  
“I have no idea yet. We’re going to the morgue to talk to the M.E. tomorrow.” Sam glared pointedly at Dean, who was busy glaring at Caitlin.  
“You’re not coming, by the way. This is serious business, not rookie training ground.”  
“Fine,” she said, “as long as you tell me about it afterwards. I’ve got my own hunt tomorrow. I’ll be looking for a new job. And a new place to live,” she added pointedly glaring back at Dean, who shifted awkwardly in his seat.

Dean was tempted to ask her why she needed to move, just because they knew where she lived. Since she had invited them to stay, she obviously wasn’t afraid that they would hurt her. The problem was, that he knew very well that it really was the only way for her to stay safe after meeting them. If the Leviathans did another number on them and re-accessed their memories, she would be a part of them. Once they moved on, they needed to make sure that they didn’t know where she was, so the Leviathans couldn’t hurt her to get to them. It was crappy but that was just the way things were these days.

Dean got up and salted the windows and front door, left an extra hex bag under Caitlin’s bed, and left it to Sam to explain to her, why his brother was pouring the common spice everywhere in her neat home.


	15. Blowing off Steam

Eventually Dean plopped himself down on the couch and turned on the TV. Sam would be sleeping in it for the night and Dean intended to sleep on the floor, but as long as his brother was working, he might as well enjoy the feeling of a soft, comfortable couch under him. And shark week, no less.

Sam and Caitlin shared amused glances every now and then, when Dean’s snores were loud enough to drown out the droning voice from the TV.   
“So you’re not going to just leave your life and become a hunter, right?” Sam asked her, after showing her the details he already knew about the current case.  
“No,” she said. “I’m five months from finishing med school. It’s what I’ve always wanted, and I’ve fought hard to get this far. I just don’t want that taken away by some chance encounter with something that won’t back down from traditional pain.”  
Sam chuckled at that. _‘Traditional pain,’_ he thought to himself. _‘Yeah, some of us don’t really know how to let that stop us.’_  
“So what you’ll want to do is keep an eye on the local news for anything out of the ordinary. To isolate any supernaturally related events and figure out what to watch out for.”  
“That sounds so simple,” Caitlin said, “but somehow I doubt it is.” Sam nodded.  
“Well, you’ll quickly catch onto what’s relevant and what isn’t. Then it’s all about finding a pattern. The pattern will lead you to the monster. Or, in your case, away from it.”

“Sam,” Caitlin began, not knowing exactly what to ask. “That blast from the past Dean was talking about… Can you tell me about…”  
“I felt it too,” Sam said sadly. “Ellen and Jo were heroes, and they died for nothing. They lost everything because of Winchesters. I… I don’t think I can tell you,” he shuddered. Caitlin noticed how he wasn’t looking straight at her, before pressing into his hand, where a scabbed over wound was clearly visible. It must hurt like hell to do that, she thought.  
“What do you see, Sam?” She watched him intently, sure that she was onto something.  
“My past. My present. My future. All in the light of the Morning Star.” Sam spoke hollowly, and ended in a slightly hysterical giggle. He drew a deep ragged breath, and regained his composure.  
“Promise me, Caitlin,” he told her, “that we’ll never see you again after we leave. Stay here, become a doctor. Be happy, be safe. Don’t ever cross paths with us again.”  
“I’ll try,” she smiled wryly. “I can’t say I wasn’t warned, if it should happen.”

It was getting late, and Caitlin bid Sam goodnight before withdrawing to her locked bedroom. She felt strangely safe with the brothers in her home. Even after Sam’s blood curdling warning about staying away from them. The last day had been overwhelming to say the least; now she just wanted to sleep for a week. But when she finally closed her eyes, sleep wouldn’t come. Instead she kept thinking about Dean lying next to her, holding her tight to him, as he had been earlier that day. She felt a strange longing, and huffed angrily at herself. He had saved her because he had followed her and broken into her home; and he had been a complete asshole about it later, with Sam. _‘He was concerned about you, and you threw him out almost naked. You yelled at him,’_ her reasonable inner voice argued. It was the voice that she could count on to stop her from overreacting in her interactions with others. She did not like how it butted in to defend Dean, when she was trying to hold onto her anger towards him.

Dean woke up at the shuffling of footsteps around the apartment, as Caitlin disappeared and Sam made ready for bed. He groaned, eyes heavy after sleeping, but managed to sit up.  
“Dude, crash here. I’ll take the floor,” he mumbled, and fell onto the floor as he tried to get up from the couch. Sam laughed in a way he did way too rarely these days. Dean couldn’t even bring up enough energy to be embarrassed, he just savored the sound of his brother’s mirth, as he carefully managed to stand upright without keeling over. Three hours of sleep in two days just didn’t cut it, he thought to himself, lurching over to the pile of blankets Sam had been arranging.

Sam watched Dean fight to stay upright long enough to collapse. He would have argued with him that he could sleep on the floor just fine, that Dean was the one who lacked sleep the most; but he knew his brother. It would be futile. Instead he crammed himself onto the couch and enjoyed the feeling. Soon he was enveloped in his dreams, past, present and his unconscious ramblings jumbled together. 

Dean was running from hell hounds. But he shouldn’t be running away, he should be running towards them. They weren’t after him, after all. Then he heard the explosion and felt his heart constrict in his chest, felt unable to breathe.  
It was cold, so he drew the trench coat tighter around himself. It was cold the way it had been, when Cas had told them to kneel before him. Cold like it had been in the panic room, when Sam was lying there again; dead to the world, reliving the horrors of the cage. He was holding a baseball cap in his hands, staring at a bullet hole and a drop of blood and it was still so very very cold. Dean woke with a start, not really surprised at the wetness on his face. A look at his phone told him that he had gotten another two hours; he knew there was no going back to sleep now. 

He quietly got up and dressed in his suit, since that was easiest to find, left a note to Sam that he was going out to blow off some steam, and left the apartment. An hour later, he found himself in a rather uptown, a bit too fancy bar (but it fit the suit), telling a very attractive woman that he was an investment banker. After that came the craziest, hottest sex he could remember having for a very long time. It was absolutely amazing and had him completely forget that anything existed outside Lydia’s bedroom. Going back to the apartment, and lock-picking his way back in, he felt a little guilty. He briefly wondered why, and shook it off, before collapsing on the blanketed floor.

Dean woke up to a breakfast of kings, Sam looking over his hickeys and fumbling steps with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Caitlin didn’t meet his eyes at all and the sliver of guilt wormed its way into his consciousness again, until he angrily stomped it out. 

Caitlin saw the hickeys and Sam’s expression. She briefly wondered if they were lovers as well as brothers, until her eyes fell on the note still on the coffee table. So Dean had left some time during the night, while she slept soundly thinking he was close. She didn’t want to examine the way that knowledge seemed to carve a hole in her chest. They would all be going their separate ways in a day or two; she knew she couldn’t depend on anyone. She wasn’t going to let herself depend on Dean.

They ate in awkward silence, until Sam started talking about how he wanted to go to the coroner first. He opened his laptop to find the notes on the address and let out a low whistle.  
“Another murder,” he said, turning the laptop to Dean so he could glance at the police report.  
“Fuck,” Dean muttered. “I’d hate to go like that.”  
“I hope they passed out pretty quickly,” Sam agreed. Something from a dream or maybe a memory stirred inside him. How many times had Lucifer done exactly this to him, denying him unconsciousness? Lucifer hummed contentedly from the other side of the table, counting on his fingers, over and over again. Sam pressed his hand and waited for the memory and the hallucination to fade. He looked up to find Dean considering him. His brother left the table, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder and squeezing it tight.  
“Let’s put a stop to this,” he murmured softly.


	16. It's All Greek to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on, I'll be updating every Monday :)

Their little exchange didn’t go unnoticed by Caitlin. Briefly, she let herself wonder what it would be like, to have someone always there, the way the brothers had each other. She shrugged it off; she had brothers once too, and look what good had come of that. The thought brought an image to flash in front of her eyes; Cody with a sneer on his face, looking down at her. She pushed the memory away, her palms suddenly wet and sweat beading on her forehead. Thankfully the guys were halfway out the door and completely oblivious.

“Hey, Caitlin!” Dean cut through her thoughts. “How about we exchange phone numbers? We’ll let you know when we’ll be back.” The unspoken _‘so we don’t scare the crap out of you or something’_ rankled her, but she nodded. Only the college had her number, but she figured she’d change it as well as everything else when it was time to move.  
“Thanks,” Dean said, “now we won’t get back to a cold dinner.” Caitlin simply raised one eyebrow, when she caught hold of his cheeky grin.  
“It’s your night to cook.”  
“But Baby, I’ll be working hard all day,” he teased her, and she couldn’t stop a half smile from forming on her lips.  
“Me too, dumbass. Now scoot.”

Caitlin’s day went by in a blur. She checked the schedule for the following week, made a list of what she needed to read up on, which papers were due and how far along they were, and began prioritizing. She had never had to do that before but she knew her fellow students did it all the time to make room for parties, family, and friends. A student counsellor had once given a lecture on how to survive med school; she had explained that they weren’t expected to read everything and come to every class. They were, however, expected to be smart about what they missed out on, because it could someday, potentially, cost someone their life. Caitlin agonized over her list, and hoped in the end that she had been smart.

She went to the store and bought the local paper, went back and sifted through the ads, marking a couple of potential places to live. She checked her bank account, which was largely unnecessary, since she knew its contents by heart. There was enough money for her to pay the deposit for a new place and the tuition fees for the next semester. But she would be hard pressed from now on to be able to save up enough to keep up after that. Maybe if she could find somewhere cheaper to stay; but that usually required living with roommates. That was one thing she definitely wasn’t cut out for. 

Caitlin made a few appointments to look at available apartments, and even found one she liked. It wasn’t as nice a building as the old one, but the rent was a third less so she could afford putting in some extra security; comfort was never a concern of hers and the kitchen and bathroom were tolerable. She briefly wished she could have given it a run with the EMF but shook it off. She’d figure it out if anything was haunting the place. She signed the lease with her taking over the place the following weekend, and went home to finalize the deal by transferring the deposit.

It was around 3pm and she had solved one half of her problem. Now came what was making her cringe on the inside; begging for a job she’d never do in a million years if she felt like there was any other choice. Five bars later, and she had a place to go next day. The manager had even seemed genuinely decent; it was never easy finding work when you were only willing to submit the minimal information needed to keep IRS off everyone’s backs. 

Her phone rang as she passed through the door to where she now worked, ‘Sid’s Place.’ She startled, not used to anyone calling her and she fumbled with it so long she thought it would go to voicemail. Then Dean’s voice was in her ear.  
“If I’m cooking, I’m bringing thai food.”  
“I can live with that,” Caitlin smiled.  
“Alright, see you around seven,” he said and hung up without waiting for her reply. She stared a little bewildered at the now dark display, then she shrugged. Apparently their day hadn’t been as rewarding as hers.

Caitlin managed to actually study for almost an hour before the brothers knocked on the door. She opened it to sniff the scent of ginger and curry in the air. She caught a movement behind her neighbor’s peephole and couldn’t help a smile. Mrs. Davies must be having a blast with what had been happening outside her door these last two days.  
“Come on in, guys. Dean, your cooking smells wonderful,” she joked.  
“Right. No, sit back down, Sam and I can set the table.” Dean gestured for her to go back to the couch and the book on the coffee table. Pleasantly surprised, Caitlin humored him and tried to concentrate on the different ways to chemically affect the pancreas. 

When they all sat down to eat, Sam was quick to ask Caitlin how her day had gone. Quick enough, that it was obvious to her that he didn’t want to talk about what he and Dean had been up to. She humored him for the moment and informed them, a little smugly, that her life was back on track. Both brothers looked immensely relieved to hear it.  
“So, your reluctance to talk about today is duly noted, but I thought we had a deal?” Caitlin inquired, making Dean put his face in his hands and Sam sigh deeply.  
“It’s nothing we’ve ever come across before. And our only lead is a weird-ass symbol we don’t know where to start looking for the meaning of,” Sam informed her. He gestured to the extra bags they had dragged up from the car. “We’ll be hitting the books tonight.” Next to him, Dean gave a little whimper without raising his head.  
“Not into research?” Caitlin asked him, amused. Dean sat back up.  
“No, I’m a man of action,” he proclaimed with a shit eating grin. Despite herself, Caitlin couldn’t help a small giggle, before she turned to Sam, serious.  
“I’ll help.”

After eating, the table was quickly laden with old obscure books on ancient sumerian, symbolism in ancient Egypt, memories of the Mayans and so forth. Sam pulled out a photograph of a symbol, and Caitlin recoiled in horror, when she realized it had been carved into the torso of a man. Sam shrugged apologetically, not much he could do about it; it had been Caitlin’s decision to help.

“So, I’m thinking it might be sumerian,” he said and grabbed one of the books on that. “Dean, why don’t you look at the Mayan angle?” Dean sighed deeply and moved to haul his book to him in slow motion. Caitlin was still staring at the symbol and Sam figured she was freaking out, and let her be. He practically forgot about her, as he submerged himself into his search for a way to decipher the symbol. When he looked up again, almost thirty minutes later, she was still staring at the picture, tracing the patterns of the symbol with a trembling finger.

“I think it’s greek,” she said. Sam frowned; she hadn’t even opened a book. “You know, people think doctors speak latin, but medical latin is more ancient greek than anything else,” Caitlin continued. “I took classes before starting med school, so it would be easier.”  
“And you recognize something from those classes here?” Sam asked her, keeping the skepticism he felt from showing.

“Our professor was sort of nutty,” she explained. “He would start all normal and then something would catch his attention and he’d rant off in some obscure direction until the lesson was over. Sometimes longer. He liked mythology.” Both brothers were watching her now, waiting, and Caitlin felt a little self conscious. After all she had never seen the symbol in its entirety before, only some parts of it; and never in a book, only drawn on the board by professor Morrison’s eager hand. But she was sure she remembered it correctly. 

She traced part of the symbol with her finger. “This is the symbol of Ares. He was a god of war in ancient Greece, you know with Zeus, the horn-dog, and Hera, the hysterical.“ She realized Sam was gaping at her open mouthed, and stopped talking. “Greek mythology isn’t real, is it?” she asked tentatively, suddenly aware that she had possibly trash talked some awfully powerful entities.  
“Probably,” Dean told her, lips curving mischievously upwards. “I once called a bunch of assorted Norse and Egyptian gods ‘murdering chimps’ and ‘primitive screwheads.’” He chuckled to himself. “Yeah, good times.” He leaned back with an easy smile on his face. “Remember that, Sammy?”  
“I remember Lucifer killed Gabriel,” Sam remarked, eyes sad and soft. Dean nodded, mood sombre again. He lifted his bottle.

“A toast for the mighty trickster,” he said, smiling wistfully. Sam bumped bottles with him and drank sparingly. Alcohol only made it harder to dispel Lucifer, who was having the time of his life, telling Sam about all the horrible things he did to Gabriel before killing him.  
“We should probably talk to that professor, maybe he’ll be able to decipher the rest of the symbol,” Sam decided. Dean groaned at the thought, but nodded regardlessly.  
“Tomorrow,” he said, then continued in Caitlin’s direction, “what’s he like?”  
“Weird,” she smiled. “Arrogant, plays up the value of his degree. Hates the IRS with a burning passion. Enjoys to theorize over occult stuff.” The brothers shared a look, saying _‘sounds workable.’_


	17. In This Together

“Why don’t we kick back and relax for now,” Sam suggested. “Watch a movie, what do you say, Dean?” Dean hesitated a moment, before shaking his head.  
“I’m gonna do some Roman-digging.”  
“Dean…” Sam began before he was cut off short.  
“Don’t start,” Dean ordered, and then pointedly ignored him, as he relocated the laptop to his liking.  
“Fine, do your thing,” Sam gave in. “You up for watching a movie?” he asked Caitlin.  
“Sorry,” she smiled sadly. “Gotta study. TV’s all yours.” 

She went to the coffee table for her double-brick sized book, and sat down opposite Dean.  
“I thought you hated research?” When Dean didn’t answer right away, Sam chimed in.  
“Only when he’s not obsessed.” Dean’s eyes shot up behind the laptop to burn into his brothers skull.  
“What I don’t get is, why you don’t care, Sam.” Dean’s tone was icy.  
“You know I do,” Sam protested. “We talked about this. We’re out of leads for now. The second the scumbag slips up, we’ll get him, okay.”

Caitlin listened to the exchange between the brothers, half scared, half amused. She tried to focus on her studies, but Dean sitting across the table from her, huffing in annoyance every other minute, was a powerful distraction. And the names they had mentioned earlier. Lucifer, Gabriel. They couldn’t be talking about… could they? She wearily dismissed the thought. She probably didn’t want to know about it, it sounded like a thing of the past. 

“So what’s gotten you obsessed?” she finally asked him. The green fire and ice earlier directed at Sam, now pierced through her.  
“You don’t need to know,” he told her coolly. Sam cleared his throat pointedly from his place on the couch.  
“Maybe she should,” he interjected. “We don’t know how long it’ll take until they’re gone. She should know what to do, if she ever has a run-in with them.” Sam shrugged and seemed to leave it up to Dean. Dean’s gaze flitted angrily between the two of them, until he gave an exasperated snort.

“Fine. We’re having a problem with some monsters called Leviathan,” he began. Caitlin gasped.  
“They’re some sort of demons, aren’t they?” She was sure she had read something about them once.  
“No, demons we can deal with. Leviathans are monsters. Powerful enough that God figured they’d eat the whole fucking petri dish, so he threw them into monster hell, or purgatory. Only about six months ago, they got out.” The anger in Dean’s voice struck a nerve and Caitlin’s eyes narrowed at Sam squeezing his hand violently.

“You let them out, didn’t you?” she questioned them. “That’s why Sam is all fucked up, right?”  
“No. We tried to stop it. Didn’t work out. _That’s_ why Sam is all fucked up.” Dean held back, unwilling to yell at Caitlin. She didn’t know, he didn’t _want_ her to know. Know about everything. About Cas. “Look, all you need to know is, they don’t like borax. Soap. It works on them, like holy water does on demons. So if you meet one, you douse it with soap, chop it’s head off, the way you would with a vampire, and then you make sure the head and the body are hidden in separate states, got it?”  
“I guess.” Caitlin paused “Did you say soap? Really?!”  
“Don’t ask how that was found out,” Dean snickered.  
“What do they look like?”  
“Anyone, until they decide to eat you. Then their whole face kinda turns into a mouth.” Dean smiled sadly at her frightened expression. “Hey, if you’re nervous, just always have a little soap on your hands, and you’ll know as soon as you touch one. They don’t eat people publicly.”  
“Okay,” Caitlin said, taking a deep calming breath. _‘I can do this,’_ she told herself. _‘If they can do this every day of their lives, I can deal with it on occasion. I can do this. Hey, I’ll be getting my hands clean, not dirty.’_

“So what are you looking for, Dean? I can keep my eyes open, too.” With that, Caitlin changed the subject to matters at hand. Frowning, Dean turned the computer towards her. The name Dick Roman Enterprises, and pictures of the well known billionaire met her gaze.  
“He’s their leader,” Dean said. “He’s up to something. And he killed Bobby. We’re taking him down.”  
“So, what kind of information do you need?” _(‘And who was Bobby?’)_ The words Caitlin had spoken made Dean squint in thought.  
“Last thing we knew of, they were trying to drug people into being easy food. And they wanted to cure cancer; to make us better food, obviously.”  
“Obviously.” Caitlin’s heart pounded in her chest. Those Leviathans were really bad.  
“I guess we’re looking for the next venture that’ll have something to do with them trying to control humans.”

Another couple of hours passed, Dean at the laptop, Sam at the TV, Caitlin with her books. After the revelations of the ‘big bad’ the brothers were up against (and Caitlin was so done with Buffy, by the way) the silence between the three of them had been companionable. Now Dean was alternately yawning convincingly and running his fingers through his hair. Caitlin hated how she had to admit that he looked absolutely adorable with his sleepy expression and ruffled hair. Sam was already snoring on the couch. She needed sleep too, tomorrow was a full day at the hospital’s radiology department, then work. But Dean looked so tired and she had a pretty good idea why he had gone out the day before; he probably wasn’t sleeping any better than his brother. Finally she spoke, softly as not to disturb Sam:  
“Why don’t you take the bed tonight, I’ll take the floor.”

Dean merely stared at her, as if she had grown a second head.  
“I’m not gonna let you sleep on the floor, in addition to everything else you’ve already done for us,” he angry-whispered. Caitlin couldn’t help a throaty laugh.  
“Then you’ll sleep on the bare floor, and no one gets the bed.” she told him, and ran to the pile of blankets, hurriedly lying down on top of them. She felt her body tighten, ready for self defense, when he skulked predatorily towards her, until she caught the glint of amusement in his eyes.  
“I’ve got another suggestion,” he told her, voice low as he stood over her. “How ‘bout we _both_ sleep on the floor, or in the bed. Your choice.” He watched the emotions wash over her face and added “sleep. Just sleep. We both need it.” He reached out to her, and she reluctantly took his hand. _‘It’s okay,’_ her inner voice tried to reassure her. _‘He won’t do anything, or he would have already. Yesterday.’_ They walked to the bedroom together.

Dean kept his T-shirt and boxers on and laid down on his back on his half of the bed, carefully pretending to be completely relaxed. _‘What the fuck are you doing,’_ he asked himself and didn’t know the answer. Last night he had found oblivion in Lydia’s very enthusiastic lovemaking and that had been fine. Classic Dean Winchester coping. But this? Sleeping next to a beautiful, broken girl, whom he hardly knew whether to hate or admire? Pure idiocy. Dangerous idjicy, his inner Bobby voice informed him. And then Caitlin crawled under the comforter, wearing a set of baby blue pajamas. Reluctantly she lay down on her side, back towards him. Their bodies didn’t touch anywhere, yet he felt the heat from her, felt her quickened breaths through the mattress. Only the day before, he had held her while she tried to shiver her way free, until she fell into relaxed sleep. Lying next to her sleeping form, he had barely managed to text Sam, before he gave into that moment of closeness and calm. Dean closed his eyes and savored the moment, thankful that he got to stay with her like that again. She wasn’t his to please this night, he had no obligation but to lie there close to her and rest.

Caitlin listened to Dean’s slow breathing,and smiled to herself as it turned into soft snores. If someone had told her three days ago, that she would voluntarily sleep next to a man, she wouldn’t have believed them, yet here she was. The Winchester brothers had showed up and turned her life upside down in more ways than she could count. The part where monsters were real and could kill her, was almost the smallest one. Because she was trusting someone for the first time ever, since her stepfather turned against her. 

She quietly turned around to watch Dean in the blue shades of the moonlight through the curtains. She hadn’t really noticed until now how beautiful he was. When he was awake, the anger was there beneath the surface all the time, and he’d look tired and careworn. But resting like this, he looked almost boyish. He looked like sunshine, like running through green meadows, like chasing squirrels through dense woods; all the things she remembered loving, before her childhood abruptly ended. And where the hell had that strange nostalgia come from? She looked at Dean again, desperate to erase such thoughts from her mind. He was just a man. A dangerous one, a man she shouldn’t, couldn’t trust. 

Then, as if by some unspoken agreement, he shifted in his sleep, reached his arm out to pull her closer to him. To her own great surprise, she let him, let her head fall to rest on his chest and listened to the slow, steady beating of his heart. Caitlin let the sound and the smell of him lull her to sleep.


	18. Disturbia

Sam woke up sometime during the night and noticed the empty blankets along the wall. He searched reflexively for a note and found none. Stumbling slightly, dizzy with sleep and abandoned dreams, he got up to see his brother’s jacket and shoes still in the hallway. Curious, he strained his ears, until he heard the familiar sound of Dean’s heavy breaths of sleep. Unable to contain himself, Sam followed the sound to Caitlin’s bedroom, and silently opened the door a fraction, to gaze in wonder at the two, lying cuddled together in their sleep. Immediately he felt guilty (and thankful they couldn’t hear the ruckus Lucifer was stirring up to disturb him into disturbing them), but he didn’t regret his intrusion, as he just as quietly closed the door behind him, and went back to the couch. No doubt both Dean and Caitlin would spend forever stubbornly pretending tonight never happened, and Sam would savor the peaceful look Caitlin had put on his tired brother’s face for a long time to come.

The alarm on her phone went off as per usual, and Caitlin sleepily scrambled to turn it off, when she realized her bed was unusually human-shaped. She forced her eyes open, to stare into Dean’s equally confused and and sleepy face. Their eyes widened as they both replayed last night’s events.  
“Huh,” Dean managed. “Um, morning, Caitlin.”  
“Morning Dean.” She was already heading for the bathroom, hiding her blushing face from him. Honestly that whole situation was just god awful awkward.

She ate cereal while Dean was in the shower, Sam slumbering on the couch while waiting for his turn to the bathroom. She was out the door and on her way to the hospital before Dean returned. Once there, she kept seeing patients and residents turning into bloodthirsty monsters. The girl with the broken wrist had really long canines, and her lipstick was a deep dark blood colored red. Everything about her was screaming vampire. A guy with a broken femur, drugged beyond sensibility for the pain, had to be an athlete, the way his muscles rippled under his shirt. He had long dark hair growth on almost every visible part of his body. Werewolf, maybe? The attending doctor asked a question and Caitlin felt icy cold when she didn’t know the answer. He could be a Leviathan for all she knew. She was sweaty and aching from tensing up when her shift was finally over and she had to hurry home to get ready for work.

She glanced over her shoulder every thirty seconds as she walked briskly to the bus stop, and leaned against a wall and let her eyes roam over the people passing by When the bus came she hurried to sit down in the back where she could see everyone else. As usual she rode a couple of stops extra before doubling back towards her soon to be ex-home. She flinched every time someone passed her, stepped up her pace until she was nearly running. Entering the empty apartment and closing the door behind her she drew a huge sigh of relief. In another hour she would have to leave the relative safety of her home again.

After a couple of hours working at ‘Sid’s Place’ Caitlin was pleasantly surprised. It sucked a lot less than any of her other bartending jobs ever had. It was more a pub than a bar, people popping in for a drink after work and leaving after just an hour. The place was busy for a simple afternoon on a weekday, but Sid didn’t seem to think it out of the ordinary and Caitlin was seasoned enough to easily keep up. After several customers had made pleasant small talk with her, and then simply left it at that, she felt herself letting go of some of the tension she was used to hiding but holding onto when at work. 

Sid nodded at her when there was a small break between orders.   
“Doing good,” he said. “It’s okay to smile, you know, our customers don’t bite.”   
“I’m starting to realize,” Caitlin answered, half a smile on her face, as the door opened and Sam entered. Her shock at seeing him there was mirrored on his face. While she tried to get herself under control, to play it cool, like he was just another customer, Sam didn’t even think about subterfuge.   
“Caitlin, hey,” he said, a dimpled smile spreading across his face. She groaned inwardly at Sid’s waggling eyebrows and continued to simply watch Sam as he crossed the floor to the bar and sat down. “I had no idea you’d be here,” he told her, nodding to Sid. “Nice place.”

Caitlin got him a beer, scowling a little. She wasn’t keen on the brothers being able to find her at work, but this job was too good to leave because of a coincidence.  
“So where’s Dean,” she asked him, when he pulled out his laptop.  
“Good question,” Sam told her. “He was supposed to meet me at the police station.” He fished his phone out of his pocket and called up his brother. 

Caitlin kept an eye on him as he spoke.  
“Dude. You never showed,” she heard Sam say and watched as he listened to Dean’s answer.  
“Oh come on man, what, are you obsessed or something?” Sam asked, annoyance clear in his voice. Caitlin got lost in wondering what Dean was supposedly obsessed about. Had he found something on the Roman-guy? She snapped back when Sam asked if he needed backup. Caitlin listened as Sam explained about cold cases two years in between and told Dean that he’d dodged a bullet. She frowned wondering what that meant, as Sam got off the phone and sighed deeply. He smiled apologetically at her.

“I know no other people as exasperating as my big brother,” he told her, as if he was relaying a great secret.  
“I believe you’re right about that,” Caitlin agreed. “Anything I can do to help?” Sam shook his head no.  
“I’ll just keep trying to find out more about the cold cases for now,” he said, eyes already scanning the browser on his laptop. She nodded and got back to work, slightly worried that Sid might be angry with her for chatting with one customer for so long. She made sure to smile so wide her cheeks hurt at everyone she served after that and soon she caught her boss’s eyes and was rewarded with a nod and a thumbs up.

An hour and a half later, Dean made his appearance too. Caitlin started to pour him a beer but he shook his head.   
“Give me a double whiskey,” he said, his voice rough. “I need it.”  
“Tough day?” she asked him carefully.   
“More like weird,” he shrugged and emptied the glass.  
“Tell me about it,” Caitlin smiled. It was more quiet now, plenty of time to listen to him. Sam shut down the laptop and leaned in.

Dean squirmed a bit under Caitlin’s gaze. For some reason he didn’t feel comfortable talking about his one night stand in front of her. He mentally hit himself on the head for being stupid. Nothing was going on between him and Caitlin, and if there were he’d better cut it off sooner than later, so why should this be a problem. He just had to tell her that… _‘Well,’_ his mind supplied, _‘you’re a …’_  
“I’m a slut.” Dean blinked at Sam’s and Caitlin’s shocked expressions. Did he say that out loud? Sam recovered first.  
“I know, dude. Never thought I’d hear you admit it. What happened today?”   
Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and decided that pretending his mouth hadn’t just had a sudden case of diarrhea was the only way to survive.  
“I went over to Lydia’s for Bobby’s flask,” he said, mostly for Caitlin’s benefit, since Sam already knew as much. “She had this little girl in a crib, and the girl was talking. She looked like a toddler but she was speaking like, I don’t know, like she was eight or something.”

Caitlin listened to the rest of the conversation with mixed feelings. She didn’t have a problem with Dean hooking up with someone, she really didn’t. It wasn’t like she was interested.   
“So what,” she heard Sam interject, “I mean, maybe she has another kid she didn’t tell you about.”

Something fishy was probably going on, but it was too funny seeing Sam tormenting Dean, when he countered Dean’s assumption that the toddler and the older kid were the same girl, because they were both called Emma, by saying George Foreman named all his sons George.  
“Are you deliberately messing with me?” Dean bitched, and Caitlin gave Sam a triumphant high five.  
“Dean, what you’re suggesting is impossible,” Caitlin told him. “I think Sam is being way too nice about it.”


	19. Like a Japanese Cartoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains lines from the episode "The Slice Girls" - all credit and hails and thank yous go to the spn writers!

The brothers stuck around until Caitlin’s shift was over. She followed them to the car, chatting about how nice everyone had been at her new job.   
“I think I’m actually looking forward to going back Thursday,” she exulted, her smile wider than it had been for years. Dean’s gaze was locked on her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, before his expression darkened again.   
“I hope we’ll be joining you for a victory celebration then,” Dean muttered as the three of them got in the car. “This case is really getting on my nerves.”  
“Well,” Sam said, “hopefully professor Morrison has something useful to tell us tomorrow.”  
“Right,” Dean scoffed. “The professor. I’m sure he’ll crack the case wide open.”

When they got back, Caitlin immediately gathered up a few books and nestled against the armrest of her couch, legs curled up beside her. Sam set up his laptop at the dining table, quietly staying out of the way. Dean flopped down at the other side of the couch and turned on the TV. Caitlin threw him a glance, before furrowing her brows and focusing on the page in front of her. Dean zapped the channels until he found an old Clint Eastwood movie, and settled in for real. As he moved his feet to rest them on the coffee table, Caitlin wordlessly stretched a leg and kicked his shin. Dean stared at her indignantly but she didn’t even raise her eyes from her book. Sam watched the exchange with an amused smile. 

Around the time the movie was done, Caitlin slammed the book on the coffee table, making Sam start. She turned to give him an apologetic look.  
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m beat. Going to bed.” Dean glanced up at her and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He went back to staring at the credits rolling over the screen. Caitlin sighed and went to the bathroom. Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean.  
“You’re not going after her?”  
“Nah, I don’t wanna impose,” Dean shrugged, looking down. They both heard the tap running and the door to the bathroom open. Caitlin’s head appeared in the doorway to the living room.   
“You coming, Dean?” she asked casually, gone again before he saw her expression. Eyes wide, he hastily got to his feet.  
“Yeah, sure.” Halfway through the door he turned to his brother. “G’night Sammy.”  
“Night, Dean,” Sam grinned smugly. “Sleep tight.”  
“Shuddup, Sammy.” Dean said, looking ominous. Sam raised both hands in apparent surrender.  
“Not saying anything.” Dean closed the door behind him.

They lay in silence on the bed, same way as the night before. Caitlin on her side facing the window, Dean on his back, resting his head on his hands.  
“Am I gonna have to pretend to be asleep again, before you’ll be my teddy bear?” he whispered softly, prompting Caitlin to snort a quick laugh.  
“Guess not, as long as you don’t try anything else,” she answered, turning to face him. “Or you’ll start losing body parts real quick.” Dean smiled at her as he folded her into a gentle embrace. They stayed like that for some time, relaxed and content, until he spoke again.  
“I’m not gonna ask for any details, but is he alive?”   
Caitlin tensed and curled up closer to him.  
“Who?”  
“The guy responsible for your trust issues.”

Just like that, Caitlin had to fight to stay in the moment, fight to avoid being sent back in time. _‘There were three of them.’_ She bit her tongue until she tasted blood, until the pain became too real compared to the memories.  
“How should I know? It’s been over ten years,” she said coldly. “And that is the end of this conversation.”  
“I’m sorry. It’s just… you shouldn’t have to feel that way.”  
“Why? Because it’s not because of your kind of monsters?” Her voice shook as she fought to keep it level. Dean stayed silent, the hand wrapped over her shoulder barely twitching. “So because nothing supernatural has it out for me, I’m not allowed to take care of myself? To be careful?” Her breathing was ragged and her eyes stung as she finished. “What do you care, Dean?”

“Of course I care,” he protested, voice sharp with irritation that turned to shaky frustration as he continued. “Life would be a lot easier if I didn’t, but I do. I try not to, hell, I don’t want to care. But I can’t help it,” His hand was gripping her arm, hard enough to bruise and his eyes bore into her, willing her to understand. She laid her other hand over his.  
“Dean, you’re hurting me.” He let go abruptly.  
“Fuck, I’m sorry. I can go…” he was halfway out of the bed in an instant.  
“Don’t. Stay.” Caitlin was suddenly too tired for anger, fear and hurt. Dean reluctantly laid back down next to her, and she rested her head on his chest, listened to his heart beat.  
“Thank you,” she said, just as Dean thought she had already fallen asleep.

The next morning, Caitlin got a ride to the hospital, since it was close by the campus. The day turned out better than the last one. She actually listened to the patients and attendees most of the time and she answered the questions she was asked. It felt normal again. As if, since she didn’t get eaten yesterday, her daily haunts were probably monster free. Faulty logic, of course, but she took comfort in it anyway, clinging to the sense of normalcy every hour she spent weaponless in the open halls of the hospital. 

When she came home there was take-out on the table, hard to spot surrounded as it was by books and stacks of paper.  
“You guys look like me the day before midterms.”  
“Well, our deadline is a bit more pressing,” Dean grunted and something about his voice rankled her.  
“What happened?”  
Dean stubbornly didn’t look up from the book he was reading and Sam continued to stare at the laptop, pressing his hand nervously.

“Apparently the woman I hooked up with a couple of days ago was something out of goddamned hentai,” Dean finally admitted, standing up and stomping to the bathroom. Non wiser, Caitlin gave Sam an inquisitive look.  
“New and exciting monster,” Sam breathed with a wan smile. “Or, I should probably say, very old. Amazons. Apparently they’re like world champions of procreation. So that little girl Dean was in the roof about yesterday…”  
“He’s a Dad?” Caitlin stared at Sam incredulously. “He has a daughter from a hook-up that happened just a few days ago?”  
“Seems like it,” Sam sighed. “And that means he’s on their list.”  
“You mean that evil female monster warriors want to cut off his hands and feet?” Caitlin ran a hand through her hair, her eyes wandering to the door where Dean disappeared, but caught Sam’s nod in the corner of her eyes. “That’s bad. Sam, that’s really bad. How are you going to stop it?”  
“Working on it,” Sam grumbled, shuffling papers.

Dean appeared in the doorway and Caitlin went to his side.  
“Don’t lose your hands and feet, Dean. You can’t hold me when we sleep if that happens.” Dean gave her a soft smile.  
“I won’t kiddo. Just remember no matter what, we’ll be saying goodbye soon.”  
“I want you out there somewhere. Fighting the good fight.”  
“You got it, Cat. Me and Sammy’ll figure it out.” Dean went back to the table and began looking through the volumes of old books.

“Looking through Bobby’s files is like dumpster diving,” Dean complained as his hands skated over the scattered books, looking for a place to start. Caitlin grabbed the take-out leftovers and put them in the fridge for some time later. She got stuck there, the door open and the cold washing over her skin, lost in her own mind until Sam’s angry voice pulled her back.  
“Because we WANT IT TO BE.” Sam was waving a paper in front of Dean.  
“Maybe it’s useful,” Dean said hopefully.  
“It's in a pile of ‘maybe it's useful.’ Besides, it's in Greek. Nobody reads Greek,” Sam snapped.  
“Yeah, except Greeks. Oh, and Bobby.” Dean snarked back.  
“And me,” Caitlin said, hand outstretched towards the paper. “Let me have a look.”


	20. Who's on first

Half an hour later, she sighed in defeat.  
“I’ve turned the Greek letters into roman letters but I can only find a third of these words in my dictionary. We need a better one.”  
“You know, there’s something called google translate,” Dean offered.  
“Gee, how did I not know that,” Caitlin scoffed. “Not enough synonyms. A simple pancake recipe would be too ambiguous to understand.”

“I’ll hit the library,” Sam told them, before things could evolve to a full scale argument. He turned to Dean, worry gnawing at his gut. “You sit tight, got it?”  
“Yeah yeah,” Dean sighed. “Holding onto my hands and feet.”  
“Take this,” Caitlin said and gave Sam the scrap of paper she had scribbled the readable Greek words on, as well as the ones she already knew. “You try and make sense of this at the library. I’ll make another one and show Dean why google translate doesn’t work.” 

Sam hesitated by the door. Dean and Caitlin were huddled close as she recreated the paper she had just given him. Lucifer was standing next to Dean, miming cutting off his hands.  
“I was just thinking, wouldn’t it be faster if you went, Caitlin?” Sam pressed his hand again, hard. 

Caitlin regarded him thoughtfully, and turned to Dean.  
“I think Sam has a point. I’ll go, and you get the tall bodyguard.” A soft smile tugged her lips upwards, though her eyes were sad. “Just be here and whole when I get back.”  
“Take Sam with you,” Dean ordered, eyes narrow.  
“No.”  
“Then you’re staying, he’s going.”  
“No.”  
“Caitlin, listen to me…”  
“No, you listen to me! I’m not the one who fucked momzilla and got on her shitlist. I can take care of myself, and I will. See you later, Dean.” Caitlin walked to Sam in the doorway, who wordlessly dropped the car keys in her hand.

“Caitlin, goddammit!” Dean yelled, bumping into Sam as he ran past him. “Caitlin would you stop for a second!” He caught up with her in the hallway, catching her shoulder when she didn’t slow down. She tensed up and he braced himself for being shoved up against another wall, but she merely turned towards him.  
“Really Dean? You’re going to force me to stay against my will?” Her breathing was shallow and he could see the traces of panic in her eyes, ready to take over; but for now her anger was in control. His hand fell short.

“No, I wouldn’t. Never.” He let his hand fall completely and took a small step back. “ And if I let myself think this through, you’re probably safer away from me, Sam or no Sam.” He met her eyes, let her see all the want and hurt and hesitance warring inside him. “I guess I just don’t want you to go.” She unconsciously took a step towards him. He looked so very lost. Her hand came up to rest against his cheek on its own accord and Dean leaned into her touch.

> Mrs. Davies had a large glass of red wine in one hand, the other pressed over her heart in an ‘aaw-gesture’. She stood with one eye firmly pressed against the peephole, and her ears strained to hear every word the couple in the hallway said to each other. She had seen a lot more of the two tall strangers the last few days. As far as she knew, they had spent more than one night in Ms. Smith’s apartment and until today’s shouting match, things had seemed weirdly peaceful. Mrs. Davies had formed a theory that the men must be family of some kind, but obviously she had been wrong. Right now, she was watching something far better than an episode of ‘Days of our Lives’. 
> 
> They were staring at each other with expressions of yearning, faces close. She was going to see them kiss, probably for the first time! Something wet hit her feet and she gave a small squeak. She had accidentally spilled some of her wine. She looked back through the peephole in time to see Ms. Smith smile towards her door mischievously.  
>  “Everything okay, Mrs. Davies?” Ms. Smith asked loudly. 
> 
> She held her breath, feeling her face burn with a different warmth than the usual alcohol induced flush. Ms. Smith looked back at her mystery man and leaned forward on tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek.  
>  “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Take care, Dean,” she promised and left him standing there.
> 
> Slowly he lifted a hand to touch where her lips had grazed him, before the other man came to stand next to him, a comforting hand on his shoulder.  
>  “Come on, Dean, get back inside. She’ll be back soon.”  
>  “Dammit Sammy, why couldn’t you just have gone?” Dean grumbled as they went back into Ms. Smith’s apartment.  
>  Wine on her carpet or not, this was the best day in a long time. She sighed happily, going back to sit in front of her TV.

Caitlin toiled over the dictionary on ancient Greek. Two hours into the job, though far from deciphering the entire text, it was at least beginning to make more sense now. _‘Just a couple of hours more,’_ she had texted Sam moments ago. She searched for the next word, the sentence structure in the document so far suggesting it would be the key to this paragraph.

Her finger started shaking as it followed the possible translations; heir, next generation, child, successor, offspring. Dean was expecting his fling to show up and try to kill him, not his own daughter. Caitlin slammed the book shut and ran towards the car, fishing her phone out of her pocket. 

Someone was standing in the shadows of the building closest to the car. Caitlin kept running, trying to put the phone back in her pocket but missed. The person moved to intercept her. Caitlin ignored the sound of her phone shattering on the concrete and groped for the car keys, legs still pumping her forward. She reached the driver’s door seconds before her pursuer, a woman in dark clothes, face hidden by her long hair. Caitlin got the key in the lock on her first try, and wrenched the door open in time to get it between her and the woman. She threw herself sideways inside, slammed the door and hit the lock. It took two attempts to get the key in the ignition and start the car, then she peeled away from the curb, tires squealing, indifferent to traffic. 

Another car soon became visible behind her, overtaking traffic and driving recklessly. She needed to get back, tell the brothers about the Amazons’ initiation ritual, and she definitely needed to get off the road before she got run off. Caitlin put on the emergency lights, hit the horn and didn’t let up again, as she floored the gas pedal and headed straight for home.

> Emma climbed the stairs to her Dad’s place haltingly. Her hunter Dad. If she survived this night, she would never ever speak to her mother again. How could she have been so stupid? Not only had she fallen for the man’s lies, she had fallen for a man that was practically never alone. All of which meant that Emma’s chance for survival was only slightly better than her chance of successfully completing her rite of passage; a chance that barely even existed.
> 
> Whether she did it or not, whether she lived or not, Dean Winchester and his brother would die tonight. Four elders were waiting nearby to ensure that. Emma was just the vanguard. The expendable one. 
> 
> She had one chance to do this and one chance only. She had to make him trust her, make him want to help her. Maybe it would be possible with days or weeks at her disposal but she had one hour. She stood before the door, breathing deeply. She was so going to die. 

Sam led Dean back to the couch after bringing him inside. He sat him down, pushed the remote out of reach and stared at his brother.  
“Dean, what’s going on between you and Caitlin?” Dean frowned, running through possible responses. _‘None of your business, Sasquatch.’ ‘Wouldn’t you like to know, bitch.’ ‘Nothing.’_  
“I don’t know, Sammy,” was what ended up exiting his mouth.  
“You need to step back. We’ll be leaving soon and it’s too dangerous for anyone to be associated with us.” ‘Too dangerous to be someone we care about,’ was what Dean heard. Dean stood abruptly to pace the small room.  
“I know that, dammit. I know.” He went to his duffel and pulled out Bobby’s old flask and took a long drink. “I just don’t know how,” he continued in an almost whisper.

Dean lifted the flask to drink again and Sam slapped his hand, cheap bourbon splattering over Dean’s face.  
“Dude!”  
“You’re not drinking yourself into oblivion while waiting for the executions squad. Stay on your toes, Jerk.” Grumbling protests under his breath, Dean capped the flask and put it back in his duffel. He picked up the remote and channel surfed mindlessly until Dr. Sexy came on. Pointedly ignoring Sam, he leaned back and put his feet on the table, relaxing back into the couch.

Dean woke up with a start, the episode long over and some old Oprah episode running. Sam was lost behind the screen of his laptop.  
“How long was I out?” he asked, looking around frantically for something to tell him the time.  
“A couple of hours,” Sam answered. “Relax. Caitlin texted me ten minutes ago, said she figured it’d be another hour or two, if they didn’t close the doors on her.” Dean sighed in relief and grabbed the remote. There was a tentative knock on the door and the brothers stared at each other in frozen near panic. Sam made a cutting motion with his hand to indicate they should ignore whoever was beyond the door. Dean ignored Sam instead and went to look through the peephole.

It was a teenage girl, looking nervous and out of place, with a duffel in her hand. Green eyes stared back at him through the opening and Dean’s heartbeat upped its pace. Sliding the chain in, he opened the door a fraction, mirroring the nosy old lady next door, when he first came into the building.

“Yes?” He tried for polite but still came off as gruff.  
“Hi,” the girl told him, eyes pleading for him to hear her out. “You don’t know me, but my name is Emma. I need your help. I think I’m in trouble and you’re the only person I can trust.”  
“Why?” _‘Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it,’_ Dean’s subconscious rambled until she spoke again.  
“Because you’re my father.”


	21. Fight for your life

Dean stared unseeingly at the girl. _‘I’m your father. Worst Star Wars joke ever. Seriously.’_ Then he closed the door, unhooked the chain and let her in. Sam was standing in front of the dining table, gun ready and trained at Emma. She showed no reaction to his threatening posture.  
“Hi uncle,” she said, careful not to make any fast movements.  
“Are you here to kill him?” Sam asked her, nodding his head towards Dean.  
“Officially, I guess,” Emma answered. “Unofficially, I’m here to beg you to help me escape.”  
“Why should we trust you?” Sam’s gaze didn’t waver as he scrutinized Emma. 

She wore simple everyday clothing, her blonde hair fell loosely down her back. _‘How did it grow that long in just a few days?’_ First she met his eyes unflinching but soon she turned to Dean instead. _‘Her father. How fucked-up surreal is that?’_  
“You probably shouldn’t. But if you don’t, we all die,” she told them, matter of factly.  
“Spill,” Dean ground out. Emma took one look at his stony expression and sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“My choices are really limited, you know,” she began. “The rite of passage, that will accept me into the tribe as an adult, is to kill my father.” She looked apologetic and defiant at once. “Only my father happens to be a hunter, hot on the tribes trail.” Looking at her feet, she continued. “It doesn’t matter if I succeed or not. The tribe needs you two dead. I’ve only got half an hour left, before they show up to make sure.” She lifted her face again and walked to stand a few paces in front of Dean. “If you’re alive, my mission failed. If you haven’t killed me, they will.” Her hand rose as if reaching out, but stopped mid air. “Allying myself with you two, and running off to live as a human is the only chance I have to live at all.”

“Say we believe you,” Dean started, “and that is a big if. What would you have us do?”  
“Leave right now, using the fire escape outside the bedroom window,” Emma said without hesitation.  
“What would the tribe do to our friend, who lives here?” Sam asked while Dean was already shaking his head, because hell if he was going anywhere without Caitlin.  
“She’s probably already dead. I’m sorry.”

Dean froze mid shake, eyes wide with horror. He scrambled for his phone and fumbled twice, before calling Caitlin, the call going straight to voicemail.  
“Fuck!” He yelled, throwing the phone across the room to shatter against the wall.

“Hey,” said Caitlin, standing in the hallway, out of breath and looking nonplussed. “Those things are expensive.” Dean couldn’t stop staring at her.  
“How long have you been here?” he finally got out.  
“Just long enough to see your temper tantrum. What’s happening?” Caitlin’s eyes narrowed when they fell on Emma. “Is she your daughter?” Dean nodded, eyes downcast. Caitlin stared Emma down. “Are you going to kill him?”  
“Not really an option for me at the moment,” Emma shrugged, nodding towards the gun in Sam’s hands. Caitlin snorted. “At least you’re honest.” Emma shrugged again.   
“Shouldn’t we be packing?” she reminded them.

They only took weapons and, as an afterthought, the first aid kit. Dean went out on the narrow ledge outside the bedroom window and latched onto the fire escape. Caitlin was right behind him.

"What made you think living on the fourth floor was a good idea,” he muttered.   
"Most robbers hate stairs,” she replied evenly, whispering to avoid alerting anyone watching the building.   
Dean kept his gaze locked on the window as first Emma and then Sam climbed out on the ledge.  
”What if there was a fire? You’d be toast.”  
”No, because there’s this really cool fire escape, which you should be moving your ass down right about now,” Caitlin huffed. 

Dean flushed and began his descent, feeling his way while keeping his eyes upturned.  
”Enjoying the view or not into heights?” Caitlin smirked, moving gracefully down the ladder above him. As Emma got on, the metal started shaking more violently with their every move and every shake was followed by succeedingly louder squeaks.  
”Take your pick,” Dean told her, gritting his teeth as the wind ruffled his clothing.  
”I’m gonna go with the fear of heights so I won’t have to kick your ass then.”

The sound of footsteps running towards them interrupted Dean’s retort. He was still level with the second story windows, but he put his hands and feet on the outside of the metal ladder and slid down quickly. He hit the concrete with a heavy thud and felt his joints jar at the impact.  
”I hate heights because I always end up falling down,” he snarked to Caitlin, looking warily at the four women forming a circle around him and the ladder.

”Lydia, hey. You look great. Already back to your old size, I see.”  
”Dean,” the amazon said, voice cold as ice. “How’s that Christmas bonus working out for you?”  
”Great,” he grinned. “I might buy my homicidal teenage daughter a car.” 

The sounds of grating metal grew, as Caitlin, Emma and Sam all climbed faster, eager to exchange their vulnerable position on the ladder with the chance to defend themselves - and Dean - on the ground. Debris started falling to the ground, chunks of brick and bent screws. Dean stepped wide of the trajectory, straight into Lydia’s space.

“Would you really do it?” he asked her, voice low so no one else could hear. “Would you kill your own daughter?”  
“In a heartbeat,” Lydia replied steadily and moved the knife in her hand in an underhand strike against Dean’s thigh. Her shoulders had given a slight tell and he was able to dodge the attack. She drew blood, but didn’t cut his femoral artery as intended.  
“You know what,” Dean said, livid at her admission and attack, “you were a lousy fuck.” Lydia just smirked at him.  
“I was the best you’ve ever had. You’ve been thinking about me every night since.” She spoke with confidence and she was probably right about being the best. But not about him thinking of her like that again. 

His mouth curled into a half smile, half sneer.  
“Get over yourself. I’ve been way too busy to reminisce our little tussle. Adapting to fatherhood and all.” He glanced up at the ladder where the others dangled precariously around the first story windows, ready for the thing to give way. It wasn’t Emma his eyes found, though, nor was it Sam, who he knew could take care of himself. Caitlin’s eyes met his and he saw courage and confidence, before terror conquered her face.  
“Dean, watch out!” she yelled, and he didn’t think, didn’t turn, just dropped to the ground and rolled backwards.

Lydia let out a frustrated sound as her knife hit only air instead of cutting through the insolent hunter’s spine. Then she felt a blade lodge itself beneath her ribs, hot searing pain ripping through her chest.  
“Emma,” she breathed as her legs gave out under her. Her eyes caught the beautiful form of her daughter, landing easily and ready for battle on the ground next to the crashing ladder.   
“Mother,” Emma gasped and began moving towards them, but darkness reached Lydia first.

Emma turned her eyes from Lydia’s still form to Dean, and for the first time, he saw her true form. Her eyes had a reddish tint to them, sunk on hollows of dark. Despite her murderous look, she was still beautiful. She would never believe that her mother would have killed her without a second thought. Hell, he didn’t really believe it himself, their daughter’s name being her last word. He had failed as a dad completely. _‘Another family drama. How many of us will walk away from this one?’_ Lydia’s blood on his hands felt dirtier, more slippery than usual. Felt like he wouldn’t be able to wash it off. 

Emma stood frozen as her father let go of her mother’s limp body, guilt and regret and unspoken apology in his eyes, the same green color as her own. Her mother, who had landed her in this impossible, unfair situation, who had borne her for just a few days and given her daughter up to the tribe, left her to deal with the fallout of her mistakes. Her mother who had been waiting here with the elders, undoubtedly to reassert herself as trustworthy, here to kill Emma as much as her father. Why did her heart beat so sluggishly in her chest, why was it so hard to breathe, and why did her eyes sting?

An amazon wearing a long coat the same color as Cas’ favoured trench came at Dean from his left and he was forced to break eye contact with Emma, to step back and avoid being pierced by her blade. His foot caught on a piece of brick and he teetered dangerously close to falling while his attacker recovered. She easily slashed him across his left shoulder. The gash went deep and his blood ran freely down his arm and torso. Rage filled him at her arrogance. She should have slit his throat when she had the chance.  
”You shouldn’t play with your prey,” he growled at the monster.  
”You think us cruel?” she sneered. "You just murdered Lydia!”  
”It was self defense, as is this,” Dean grit out. “Sorry about your girlfriend, but don’t date the cheating, murderous ones.” 

The second Sam hit the ground, a little rough, jarring his ankle, a red headed amazon tried to put a knife in his back. _‘Right, that never gets old.’_ Twisting around and away, he still received a cut in his side. He pushed her in the back and watched her tumble forward. Instead of going after her, he scanned the scene before him. Dean was getting his ass handed to him but he looked beyond pissed so that was probably about to change. 

Lucifer was leaning on the wall, observing along with Sam.  
“I’ll holler if someone needs help, shall I?” the hallucination told Sam helpfully, trademark self satisfied smirk in place. _‘Not real, not real, nor real,’_ Sam kept the mantra going, terrified of making the mistake of listening to Lucifer at a crucial moment.  
“C’mon Sammy,” the not-there fallen angel pouted. “We could be a team. I could be useful.” Something moved next to Sam and he jumped forward clumsily, narrowly avoiding the redhead’s attack, but left open to the follow-up.

A blonde with a blade raised and ready to strike, stood at the spot Caitlin’s arc through the air would land her as the ladder finally gave up. Caitlin pushed herself as far away as she could, bracing herself as her additional sideways momentum screwed up her chance of a smooth landing. Not getting skewered on the blonde’s blade before touching the ground, Caitlin still counted it as a success, when she tumbled to the ground without the accompanying sound of snapping bones. She’d be fine, if she could just pull some air back into her lungs. While she gasped for breath, the blonde suddenly straddled her, the blade cutting through the air, aimed at Caitlin’s windpipe.


	22. Monster within

Dean feinted an attack with his knife and kicked the trench coated amazon in the knee, then swung his knife in a wide arc while she fell forward, his left hand loosely grasping her forearm and keeping her blade away from him. His knife broke through the top of her skull with a sickening crunch and lodged itself deeply in her brain. Her eyes rolled back and her whole body cramped up in violent seizures, before she fell to the ground, dead. He bent to retrieve the knife, only to almost _hear_ his father’s berating voice, the memory sparking the old anger, loss and fear. _“You don’t stab and cut all the way through the bone. Way to lose your weapon, smartass.”_ Dean yanked hard but instead of coming loose, the knife broke near the handle. Useless. He threw it away and picked up the amazon’s blade.

Dean scanned his surroundings: Emma still stood, silent, simply watching, no one close by. Caitlin was off the grid, but there was Sam, narrowly dodging an attack and fumbling his footing. Ice burned as hot coal in his gut, as he sprinted towards his brother, still yards away as the amazon’s blade raced towards its target. Dean threw the stolen blade at her, speed before accuracy, and got her in the shoulder. Sam recovered with a grateful look in Dean’s direction and ended his attacker, thrusting his knife between her ribs and into her heart. 

Caitlin caught the amazon’s arm in the last possible instant before the knife could cut her throat. Simultaneously deflecting the strike and bucking up, she nearly dislodged her attacker. The amazon didn’t try again, let go of the knife, to hold Caitlin down in a strong grip.

Caitlin regarded the amazon, searching her face for traces of humanity, of mercy. At first it had looked like a woman but now Caitlin could see clearer. The differences were subtle but many; reddish eyes almost glowing, shadows obscuring the face into something feral. The creature didn’t move, and Caitlin’s breathing finally eased up.   
“Too bad you’re not one of us,” the amazon whispered with a mocking hiss. “You have the courage but lack the strength.”  
“There’s no strength in killing, when you kill for the sake of violence alone. There’s only defeat to come,” Caitlin told her. _‘Jesus, what a load of crap, she’ll never buy into it.’_  
“Stalling, sweetheart?” the amazon sneered.

Caitlin’s ears filled with a roaring sound, as she once again shifted her weight and bucked under the amazon. Mere milliseconds later, Caitlin was holding the amazon down. Caitlin leaned down to hiss into its ear.  
“Never ever call me that. I’m not. Not yours or anyone else’s _sweetheart_.”  
The amazon fought to throw Caitlin off of her and get free, but Caitlin held on tight.

She raised her head in time to see Dean walking towards her, smiling wistfully.   
“You good?”  
“I’m fine. Dean, you’re bleeding!”  
“It’s nothing.” He bent down to pick the knife from the ground. “Move over,” he told Caitlin and slid the knife through flesh and sinews, neatly piercing the amazon’s heart with the practiced ease of years and years of hunting and killing. Caitlin stood up, eyes wide, backing away from him. Dean watched with only a hint of apology in his eyes. Showing her who he really was might be the step back Sam had asked for.

Emma watched the members of the tribe fall around her. Watched her father, as he killed them, one after the other, the way she should have killed him, if she had only had the chance. If he had been an amazon, he would have been one of their best, their strongest. Her awe gave way to fear; no way he was going to let her live. She made her feet move, one after the other, faster and faster.

“Emma!” her uncle called after her, and she quickened her steps. She heard a loud bang and a sharp pain erupted in her back. Her legs didn’t work and she fell. She gasped for breath, and tasted blood in her mouth. It was cold, getting colder, but far above her, she could see a bit of clear sky, stars shining, too far away to care. She heard running footsteps, and the stars disappeared behind her father’s face. His hands ghosted over her face and shoulders, small soothing touches, a kind of touch she had never known in her short life.

“Emma,” he said, voice cracked and broken, eyes shining with tears. “Emma, hang on. We’ll get you some help, you’ll be fine.” He turned, looked away from her, letting the stars back.  
“Sam, call an ambulance, god dammit!” he yelled, and then he was back and it was raining. No, he was crying, tears falling on her face. It hurt and it was so cold, but he was cradling her and telling her to hold on. She forced her mouth and tongue to move.  
“Da… Dad,” she managed, and let go.

Dean carefully laid his daughter to rest on the hard concrete and stood to face his brother.  
“What the hell, Sam? What the fucking hell? Did _he_ tell you to shoot her? What were you thinking?”  
“We should go, before the police gets here.” Sam met his furious, grief stricken stare head on. Dean’s shoulders slumped, but he began the heavy walk to the car. Reaching the vehicle, he realized the keys weren’t in his pocket.  
“Caitlin! You need to come, if you don’t want to spend the night in jail. You can run away screaming later,” Dean called softly to her. She was standing next to Emma’s body, hugging herself, flinching at his words. Still, she came and handed Dean the keys, sliding into the backseat without a word.

Peeling away from the curb, Dean spoke quietly.  
“Answers, Sam. You better have some.” Sam flinched minutely at Dean’s tone. No one knew better than Sam that Dean wasn’t dangerous when he was shouting and blustering. It was when he turned soft and quiet you had to be careful. Lucifer laughed loudly from where he was sitting next to Caitlin in the back.  
“So much for bros before hoes, Sammyboy,” Lucifer grinned. “Now you’ll find out how big brother _really_ feels about you.” Sam wrenched his eyes from the hallucination and forced himself to speak.

“She ran. I didn’t want us to spend weeks tracking her down later.”  
“Sam what the ever living fuck? She warned us, she didn’t try to kill anyone, she never killed anyone. How do you justify gunning her down like that?”  
“She was a monster.”  
“She had a choice! And you took it away from her!”  
“The way _you_ took away Amy’s choice?”  
“Amy made her choice, and you failed to kill her. I’m only sorry I didn’t tell you.”  
“She was protecting her kid. She was done, she was never going to do it again.”  
“Sammy, she made her choice. I sent that kid on his way, and told him never to kill anyone.” Dean turned off the main road and stopped at the curb so he didn’t have to watch the road, before continuing softly. “Emma should have had the same chance.”

“I don’t think she would have adapted.” Sam didn’t back down from his brother’s glistening eyes. “She only helped us because she had no other choice but to die herself. Not once did she show any sign of giving a fuck about human lives. Remember when you asked her about Caitlin?”  
“So, when you seemed to be going completely dark side, and got revved up on demon blood, I should have shot you? I was wrong to trust you? I shouldn’t have let you save the world, Sam?” Dean’s tone was hushed, and when he fell silent his jaw clenched several times. Sam shifted his gaze to stare at the empty road ahead.

“Maybe, if she hadn’t been your daughter, I would have given her a chance.” Sam’s eyes flicked up to Dean’s incredulous stare, before returning to the dark asphalt. “How do you think I felt about myself, when I found out what Amy had done? I know this hurts, and you can hate me all you want for killing Emma. But at least you’re not hating yourself the way you would have, if she killed someone else someday.”

Dean’s hands held the wheel in a white knuckled grip, while he stared ahead of him. Then he opened the door and scrambled out of the car, slamming the door hard behind him. He walked a few yards along the sidewalk, and came to a halt in front of a flower bed with sleeping red and white and yellow roses. When a car door opened, he turned to tell Sam to fuck off and leave him alone. The words died in his mouth when he saw Caitlin walking slowly towards him. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “You shouldn’t have had to fight, and listen to me ‘n Sam fight. We’ll find you a motel and set you up for the rest of the week.” Caitlin said nothing, but continued until she was standing right in front of him, close enough that he could smell her shampoo.   
“I’m fine,” she said. She opened her mouth again, but no words came. Then she carefully lifted the fabric of his shirt and looked at the wound in his shoulder.   
“I’ll have to stitch you up,” she said, before she gently wrapped her arms around his shoulders and drew him into a soft hug, ignoring the blood on his clothes. 

She threaded a hand through the soft hairs at the nape of his neck, and held onto him tightly. Dean put his arms around her loosely, and focused on breathing in the scent of her, of feeling her nose nuzzle against his collarbone.  
“He loves you so much,” she half whispered into his ear. “He would rather have you hate him than watch you hate yourself.” Dean hugged her closer.  
“I know. The things he’s done for me...” Dean’s whisper was barely audible. Caitlin drew in a breath, as if to speak.  
“Please,” Dean murmured. “Don’t wanna talk about it.” Caitlin relaxed back into the embrace and looked up into his face, all his unshed tears still hiding behind his eyelids. Broken. Broken, battered and bruised. Beautiful. Deadly. Dangerous. 

Their lips met, and she couldn’t tell who had closed the distance between them. She had never been kissed like this, raw emotion rather than sexual desire, soft and caring yet bleeding desperation and need for comfort.


	23. Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, I really hate to do this, but I need some motivation. My beta is off enjoying real life (and boy am I cheering for her, she deserves every good thing that happens to her), but here I am, all alone and not sure if I'm the only one thinking this story is worth spending time on. Please comment. Constructive criticism is welcome too, since well... beta-less. :)

> “I’m telling you, officer, there are people dying in the street,” Mrs. Davies sobbed into the phone. There were bodies littered in the alley under her, all the handiwork of the men that had stayed with Ms. Smith. Then the sound of a gunshot echoed between the brick walls, and suddenly the officer was a lot more accommodating. “Oh God,” she said to him, coherency left far behind. “They’re taking her with them. Poor Ms. Smith.”

Dean reluctantly pulled away from Caitlin. She looked calm, but there were tear streaks on her face.  
“I’m sorry,” she said.  
“What? Shouldn’t I be saying that?” Dean traced her tears, his touch so soft she barely felt it.  
“I’m not stupid, you know,” she told him. “I know what you were doing with that amazon, what it is you need now. And I’m sorry, because... I can’t give you that.”  
“Caitlin, no, it’s fine. I don’t… I’m not… I…”

He looked at her disbelievingly, as she began to laugh. Easy, heartfelt, ringing laughter.  
“I can’t believe we kissed and I didn’t even freak out,” she said, still smiling, and Dean couldn’t help beaming back at her.  
“I am an excellent kisser,” he chuckled. Caitlin sobered a little.  
“I wouldn’t really know, but I suppose so.”  
Dean rested his hand on her cheek, and she accepted his touch, leaned into it.  
“What happened to you?” he nearly whispered. Caitlin pulled away.  
“Dean, don’t. Just… Let’s get you patched up and find you someplace to score, right?” She looked at him pleadingly, and his eyes widened in shock.  
“What? No!” He broke eye contact, looking around unseeingly. “Let’s just get back to the car, find somewhere to hole up until the police clears out.”

They changed cars twice before they found a motel down in Delridge. Instead of checking in, they chose a room furthest from the office with no outwards signs of being already taken. Dean picked the lock ever so slowly, making almost no sound at all. As the door swung open and revealed a typical unused motel room, he sighed with relief. 

Their meager belongings dragged inside, Dean looked at Sam grudgingly. They hadn’t spoken one word to each other since their argument.  
“You need this?” Dean asked, holding up the emergency kit. Sam felt his side, wincing at the sting but the blood was mostly dry.  
“Nah, I’m good, you go first,” he replied, studying the ugly carpet instead of meeting his brother’s eyes. Dean’s eyes bored into him and then he shrugged.  
“Suit yourself.” He went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him with an ominous click. Sam sighed and sat down on the queen farthest from the door, his by force of habit.

“What’s he doing?” Caitlin asked Sam, frowning at the exchange.  
“Patching himself up,” Sam answered, lying down on top of the comforter. He closed his eyes for a second, but quickly opened them again, sick of the fire and pain that awaited him behind his eyelids.  
“With an almost resident doctor in the room? Is he retarded?” Caitlin sputtered and Sam burst out a quick laugh.  
“You askin’ or tellin’?” he simply said, and Caitlin laughed with him, before knocking on the door to the bathroom. Sam shook his head and turned on the tiny TV.

“What?” Dean barked at the intrusion, but deflated somewhat when Caitlin opened the door a fraction and peered inside.  
“Dean, don’t you even think for a second I’ll let you do your stitches yourself.”  
“What?!” he said again, confusion winning over disbelief.  
“Doctor, remember?” she admonished. Dean broke out his widest grin.  
“You wanna play doctor with me?” he asked and waggled his eyebrows. Caitlin’s eyebrows rose in response, her face carefully neutral, until she broke down laughing.  
“God, Dean, you’re incorrigible!” 

He continued to smile, his eyes trained at her with a warm, fond expression. She opened the emergency kit and her laughter died.  
“Dental floss? Are you guys insane?”  
“We did _not_ have any problems getting into a mental institution for a hunt. That’s the only answer, I’ll give you.”  
“Great. Just great. Now strip,” Caitlin commanded, and Dean reluctantly removed his plaid and shirt, hissing at the pain and favoring his arm.

The gash was deep and still oozing blood, even now, hours later. Caitlin swallowed. Of course she had seen far worse at the hospital, but she had also seen far less; and people with injuries far less severe didn’t usually drive to the ER themselves. Here was Dean, ready to sew himself back together in a decidedly non-sterile motel bathroom. The bottle of Jack in the emergency kit made a lot more sense now. She unscrewed the cap.  
“I suppose the usual procedure for motel surgery is to drink first and disinfect after?” she said and held the bottle out to him. He nodded and took a few swigs, grimacing at the burn. She took it back and gave him a concerned look before pouring a liberal amount over the wound. Dean held his breath to keep from gasping, eyes squeezed shut from pain.  
“Breathe, Dean. Come on take a deep breath,” Caitlin told him. He took a deep breath, shaking a little. “That’s better. Now just keep breathing, and I’ll be done real quick.” Dean gave a mirthless smile.  
“Stop babying me, Doc.”

Instead of answering, she started sewing, ignoring the hitches in his breath when she pushed the needle through skin and flesh. The expanses of his bare chest and back were laid out before her, freckled skin and muscle tone, pale in the sickly yellow light of the bathroom. There were so many scars; how often had he sat in motel bathrooms and stitched himself back up? Her fingers twitched with want, as she tightened the thread. If her fingers could just glide across all that skin, feel him, touch without hurting, touch to heal. Her mind stuttered and caught up with her hands’ ideas. _‘Do you want him to hurt you?’_ She aggressively tied off the final knot and looked him over critically.

“Was that it?” she asked, ready to get out of the cramped bathroom. Dean shook his head.  
“You might want to let me take care of the rest on my own, though,” he said, glancing at her worriedly. She followed his gaze down between his legs, where his pants were torn and splashed with the rusty color of dried blood, less than ten inches from his crotch. With her heart pounding, she looked back up at him.  
“How do you think this doctor thing works, exactly? It’s all or nothing. I knew that from the start.” She readied another thread and cleaned the needle in the Jack D, keeping her back to him as best she could in the small room. Dean saw her hands shaking anyway.  
“Just let me do it,” he pleaded. “I know you can, but you don’t have to this time. Please?”

Biting her lip, Caitlin shook her head stubbornly. Then she kept her eyes on Dean’s as she slowly unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans. Careful not to drag his boxers down along with them, she pushed them down, out of the way. The cut was shallow but long. Had it been somewhere else, it could have been taken care of with butterfly band-aids, but here the friction of clothes would tear those off within an hour. She sighed and gave Dean the bottle of Jack again. This time he only took a small sip, before handing it back. Caitlin slouched it freely on the wound and Dean welcomed the pain, distracting him from her kneeling position in front of him, and the way her tongue peeked out the side of her mouth as she focused on her task.

The needle bit hard into his skin, but the sting couldn’t stop the automatic physiologic response to the tableau they made. Dean was bracing himself, one hand on the door frame, one on the sink. His foot rested on the toilet seat, giving Caitlin room to work. Wearing only his boxer briefs he had nowhere to hide. _‘Shifterskin. Severed vampire heads. Hell hounds. Jo. Fuck. Smell of burning wendigo. Rugaru. Amy. Emma. Shit. Sulphur. Soap. Roman. Bobby. Stop. Hurts too much. Salads - yuck, really Sam. Sam!! No, not that now. ARGH!! Tofu-burger, tofu-burger, tofu-burger - bwarh.’_ Dean bit his cheek and watched Caitlin work. She was careful not to touch him unnecessarily but occasionally her hand would brush against his uninjured leg. 

Tying off the final knot, Caitlin raised her head to tell Dean it was over. Her eyes caught on the bulge in Dean’s boxers and her mouth went dry, too dry for her to speak or swallow. Instinctively she tried to move farther away, and nearly fell into the bathtub. Righting herself, she saw Dean’s face; not smirking or laughing at her, but eyes shut tightly, his mouth moving fast with no sound. The tension melted out of her body. _‘This is Dean, nothing to worry about.’_  
“What are you whispering about?” she asked him, smiling at his obvious discomfort.  
“I’m practicing the exorcism backwards,” he grumbled, opening his eyes. “You done yet?”  
“Yeah. I’d better have a look at Sam, too.” 

Sam jumped a little and turned off the TV as soon as Caitlin exited the bathroom, carrying the emergency kit with her.  
“How is he?”  
“Horny and hurting, but in that order, I think,” she smiled.  
“Good, great,” Sam nodded. “Uhm, you want to take a look at this?” he asked her hesitantly, pointing at the maroon discoloration at his side.  
“Of course, scoot over a bit.”

Sam declined the whiskey and barely flinched when she disinfected the wound. He sat quietly, peacefully, while she worked. The door to the bathroom opened when she had closed the gash halfway. Dean barely glanced their way, before throwing himself on the other bed, with a groan. Ignoring his pity party, Caitlin pushed the needle through again. Sam kept staring at some spot at the green checkered wallpaper, completely oblivious.  
“Sam, what.. how.. aren’t you feeling any pain?” she asked worriedly.  
“Oh, yeah… Sorry,” he answered, smiling softly at her. “It’s just… it’s not enough to bother me, that’s all.” Something resembling a growl, or maybe a sob, sounded from the other bed, and Caitlin saw Dean’s knuckles white from gripping the pillow, his face was currently buried in.

“Just finish up,” Sam murmured, sad eyes resting on his brother. Caitlin complied, a little creeped out by Sam’s lack of response to the pain. When it was done, and she had put away the kit, Sam spoke again, loud enough for Dean to hear him.  
“You need to see this. We’re in trouble. Even more trouble, that is.” He fumbled for the remote and turned the TV back on. Dean got up to stand behind Caitlin next to Sam’s bed. The News were on, and there were footage from the street below Caitlin’s apartment, police tape and clue markers flapping in the wind.

> “Five women were found dead in this alley earlier this evening. Police has so far been unable to identify any of the victims. Officer, what can you tell us about this massacre?”  
>  “Nothing. Not a goddamned thing. Now go away and let me do my job in peace.”  
>  “The police is keeping everything carefully under wraps, unwilling to share any more details with the press. We at the network speculate that this is tied to the human trafficking ring that was exposed six months ago.”  
> 
> 
> The camera panned over to an elderly lady standing next to the shut off area.  
>  “Mrs. Davies witnessed the fight from her apartment. Can you tell us what you saw?”  
>  Mrs. Davies sipped thirstily from a plastic cup, undoubtedly something alcoholic.  
>  “It was horrible. There was this loud grating noise, and I went to the window to yell at whoever was making it to just stop, but when I looked down, it was the fire escape falling down. And there were people down there, with knives. I saw the glint of the streetlights reflect on the blades.” The old woman paused to drink again, shuddering - maybe at the taste, maybe at the memory.  
> 
> 
> “Why did the fire escape fall down?” the reporter prompted her.  
>  “Well, it couldn’t carry all the people climbing down, of course. They should really sue, what if it had been a real fire? What if they had gotten hurt when they fell?”  
>  “How many climbed down?”  
>  “There was Ms. Smith, she’s my neighbor, lovely young girl, very quiet, and the two mystery men that was staying with her this week, and the shorter one’s daughter. Ms. Smith never brought anyone home before this, never. So sad.”  
>  “Why was it sad?”  
>  “Well, they took her! Made her climb down that awful ladder and get in a car after fighting those people.”  
> 
> 
> “Can you tell us more about this child?”  
>  “She was a pretty little thing, probably thirteen to fifteen years old. ”  
>  “Did the girl leave with the others?”  
>  “No. No. That poor thing was shot when she tried to run. I guess that’s why Ms. Smith didn’t try to get away.” Tears ran down the old woman’s face, and she emptied the contents of her cup.  
>  “Thank you Mrs. Davies,” the reporter said quietly. “Back to the studio.”  
>  “Thank you, Jim. The police has put out an APB for Caitlin Smith, the neighbor in question. Please call this number, if you see the woman in the picture.”

There was a picture. Caitlin, with her hair loosely framing her face. She was looking more down than into the camera, unsmiling. It had been taken when she started at the hospital, but she had talked them out of putting it online with the other employees, spinning a tale about an abusive ex-boyfriend. Apparently they had had no qualms about giving the photo to the police, and they in turn had given it to the media.


	24. Closing in

> Mrs. Davies’ doorbell rang at 4am, the morning after the dramatic events in the alley outside. She had been talking to police and reporters until 1am, and she was now firmly in favor of staying unconscious until her hangover lifted. The doorbell rang again.  
>  “Come back in six hours,” she yelled, and hid her head under her pillow. It couldn’t muffle the sound of the doorbell being pushed continuously. Finally she gave in, ranting angrily about spoiled brats with no respect for the elderly. 
> 
> She was so upset she threw the door right open without even checking who was there. A pair of policemen stood outside, looking apologetic.  
>  “We regret to have to disturb you this early,” one with blond hair and blue eyes began.  
>  “But something has come up. We need to ask you a few more questions about the men you say stayed in the apartment next door,” the other one, dark brown skin and almond eyes, continued. Then he held out a brown paper bag from the local bakery and the other one produced a large plastic cup, smelling enticingly of coffee. 
> 
> She closed her robe around her a bit tighter, and motioned them inside. When they were seated at the dining table, and she had a donut in one hand, and the steaming coffee in the other, she sighed and looked at them.  
>  “Ask,” she said. The blond officer produced a photo album with mugshots.  
>  “We’d just like to know, if you can recognize the two men somewhere in here.”
> 
> Mrs. Davies sipped her coffee and flipped slowly through the pages. Could she ask to be payed for this? Her eyebrows shut up at a particularly aesthetically pleasing face looking back at her from the pages. Probably not. She flipped again, and gasped.  
>  “There,” she said, pointing. “That’s the short one, and that’s the tall one. His hair is a bit longer now.” She stared at the labels. “Winchester? Wasn’t there something a while back…?”
> 
> The two men nodded at each other, and suddenly the amiable way they held themselves changed. Mrs. Davies wasn’t sure what to make of their expressions except maybe… hunger? Did she even remember to check their badges?  
>  “So they were here. For days. Think they’ll come back?” The dark one said to his partner, completely ignoring Mrs. Davies.  
>  “Sounds like they left in a hurry. Might have left something behind. We’ll scope the place.” Then the blond cop looked at her and grinned, and her blood ran cold. “Let’s share her.”
> 
> When their faces became nothing but two giant mouths, Mrs. Davies fainted. By the time her hangover would have been gone, all that was left of her was a dark red splotch on the carpet. 

Dean grabbed the remote, turned the TV off and hurled the remote at the far off wall.  
“Fuck!” His shoulders were hunched and his face looked as if it was stretched thin. He pointedly avoided facing in Sam’s direction. Sam held his breath, while Lucifer told him to buckle up for a beating. Poor girl, Mrs. Davies had said. Poor Emma. Little monster girl. The explosion of rage, grief and violence never came. Dean took several deep breaths, his fists clenched tightly against his thighs. When he spoke, he still ignored Sam and addressed Caitlin. 

“We’re not going to find the rest of the tribe in this city anyway. You can feed the cops a bullshit story about us kidnapping you, after we skip town.”  
“What?” Caitlin’s voice sounded weak, childish. The room spun, and she sat down on the closest surface, the bed she and Dean would be sharing. _‘Breathe, just breathe,’_ her mind told her, but she couldn’t.  
“You could be back at the hospital, living your dream again next week,” Dean argued. Her vision was getting blurry.  
“No. I can’t. That was my picture! On the news!” It came out as a squeaky whisper instead of a yell. _‘Breathe, come on.’_

The brothers stared at her, bewildered.  
“Don’t you see? They’ll find me.” She couldn’t get enough air, she was dying again and no one was even trying to strangle her. No one but her past. “I can’t stay here.” Suddenly Dean was in front of her, holding a bag out to her.  
“Breathe, Caitlin,” he told her and she grabbed it and did as told. It was plastic, and the air in it tasted like rotten tomatoes and made her gag a little. She didn’t pull it away. Dean rested his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs drawing little circles on the fabric of her shirt. Some time later, she let the bag fall to the floor, and threw herself at Dean so hard he nearly toppled over. As soon as he found his balance, he wrapped his arms around her and held her.

It took time, but eventually Dean felt Caitlin’s breathing slow to almost normal. He gently disentangled himself and sat down next to her on the bed, an arm slung around her shoulders. She kept staring at the floor as if she could drill holes with thought alone.  
“I know it sucks,” he tried carefully, “but why is it so awful that they think we took you? Not being a suspect will make it so much easier for you to go back.”

“Remember what you asked me last night?” She didn’t move her eyes from the floor. Dean nodded. _‘Is he alive? The guy responsible for your trust issues?’_ He should have kept his mouth shut.  
“I don’t know,” she then said, and he had to think hard to understand, helped along as she spoke again. “I don’t know but if… I’m afraid they’ll come for me.” Caitlin stood up and went to the small kitchenette, opening and closing the mini fridge several times. _‘Of course,’_ Dean thought, _‘if the bastard was still alive, she’d be afraid he’d… wait, they?!’_  
“Shit, Caitlin,” Dean gasped, his gut churning at the realization. 

Her cheeks burned as she moved around aimlessly. Maybe she should just put on her shoes and get out of there. She’d cut her hair in a public bathroom somewhere, color it purple to distract, and jump a greyhound out of there. 

Sam finally found Dean’s eyes, earlier apprehension forgotten, and nodded. That was all the communication they needed. Decision made.  
“Caitlin, hold up a minute,” Dean said, frowning as she ignored him and continued to pace around. He stood up to intercept her. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, so he spoke to her hair instead. “You’re coming with us until you feel safe again. Then you can transfer to another hospital, get settled and finish that doctor shit.” Her eyes flew to his and a hysterical giggle escaped her.  
“Doctor shit?” she asked incredulously. Dean just waved a hand at her, as if to say _‘whatever it is you call it.’_

She looked to Sam, who nodded solemnly.  
“Honestly, it’ll be nice having someone else to share the load with,” Sam said.  
“She’s not hunting, Sammy,” Dean said, whirling on his brother.  
“Oh no, definitely not. I was talking about spending all day in the car with your ass.” Dean narrowed his eyes.  
“Guess who just lost shotgun privilege.”  
“At least the music isn’t so loud in the back,” Sam shot back with a grin. Dean regarded him for a moment, his expression still closed off, but in the end he offered Sam a half smile in return.  
“Bitch.” Mentally Sam fist pumped and told Lucifer _‘In your face.’_ Dean wasn’t done giving him a hard time over his decision to kill Emma, but Sam would be forgiven eventually. If only he could forgive himself...

“Are we just leaving now or could I maybe… I mean, there’s a few things back at the apartment…” Caitlin floundered. Sam gave Dean the “we need to get out of here”-look, but Dean knew what Caitlin was talking about. Photos of a smiling woman, a soldier, and of a girl with pigtails. A picture of a headstone.  
“We’ll get a good night’s sleep, try to sneak in tomorrow, and then we’re outta here,” he said, ignoring Sam’s outraged “don’t fucking just ignore me”-look.

When Caitlin went to the bathroom a little later, Dean tried to explain.  
“Sammy, she’s lived here for years, and she had what? Five minutes to decide what to bring down a fire escape and into a raging battle. She’s not like us. I know you’re right, but I…”  
“You’re still too close. And now she’s coming with us,” Sam said resignedly. “Look, Dean, I’m happy for the both of you, but I foresee one hell of a shitstorm.”  
“I know, this’ll go badly but… wait, what? Happy for us? What are you talking about?” Dean stood up, arms thrown wide. “Jesus Christ, Sam, we’re just friends.” Sam’s eyes widened.  
“So you’re not?” He made an aborted gesture with his hands, unable to continue. Dean’s knowing grin confirmed that he was blushing.  
“No, we’re not that close.” Dean said, smiling. 

Sam’s eyes narrowed.  
“Dean, you were necking each other less than ten yards from the car.” Dean scratched his neck, avoiding Sam’s eyes.  
“Pretty sure that was a one time thing.” He re-opened the emergency kit and took the bottle of whiskey, continuing as he unscrewed it, “she seems to think I need to get laid to deal with… you know.” _‘Emma.’_ “But she’s not offering, if you had any doubts. Girl’s got class.” He drank deeply, grimaced and sighed. “Like I use sex to deal with shit. I guess she’s a little crazy, huh?” He offered the bottle to Sam, who ignored it.  
“Really?” Sam smiled. “My money would be on ‘perceptive’. Sounds like she’s got your number.” Dean huffed a laugh and took another swig.  
“You’re forgetting that I’m flexible. This is a perfectly acceptable coping method as well,” he said and went for another mouthful. 

The door opened and Caitlin came out.  
“You better stop now or sleep on the floor, mister,” she told Dean, as she noticed the sunken contents of the bottle. Sam covered his mouth with his hand, gasping with suppressed mirth, while Dean looked like a kid who’s ice cream was melting on the ground.

Later, Sam lay awake as Dean and Caitlin shared the other bed, simply lying peacefully wrapped up in each other, as they had been that first night Sam caught them. No matter what suggestive remarks and lewd faces Lucifer made, Dean’s earlier comment remained true. Not that close, but maybe this was closer. _Worse._ Lucifer guffawed at Sam, when he silently prayed that Caitlin wouldn’t die on his brother like everyone else seemed to do. Between the gentle snoring from the other bed, and the hallucination’s indecencies, Sam didn’t get much sleep.


	25. Even the best laid plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just making sure you've seen the warnings in the tags for past child abuse and rape/non con. Alright, proceed if you're okay with that.
> 
> Also, the first drabble in the 'Extras and Outtakes' can be read now without any spoilers.

Dean woke up to light filtering through the yellowed curtains, Caitlin still a warm weight in his arms. For a few minutes he simply watched her face, relaxed in sleep, making her look… whole. His head thudded rhythmically in time with his heartbeat. Goddamn it, he hadn’t had enough to drink to numb anything and yet here was the hangover, just because miss prissy wouldn’t bedshare with a happy drunk. Yeah, okay, maybe not happy. His boxers were tented as if to say _‘and she didn’t put out either,’_ but now he was just being an asshole. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply.

The next time he opened his eyes, the shadows beneath the window had moved and Caitlin was watching him quietly. Her arm was slung across his bicep, her hand softly touching the hairs at the nape of his neck. The touch was devoid of anything sexual, but it would be lying to call it friendly. _‘Affectionate.’_ It took him awhile to think of that word, it wasn’t part of his everyday vocabulary.

Her expression was serious, observant. He smiled halfway and began to take stock of where his limbs were hiding out. One arm looped around her waist, hand reflexively gripping and loosening around a chunk of her hair. _Huh_. One leg pressed between hers. _Oops_. Morning wood still firmly in place. _Fuck_. He had no idea how to disentangle himself without her noticing.

Caitlin smiled knowingly, and pushed herself away from him, hogging the bathroom before he could open his mouth. He was in half a mind to hurriedly take care of business when he caught Sam looking at him, sitting with his laptop over in his bed, smirking. Dean gave him his best ‘I’m your big brother and don’t you dare give me any shit’-look, before getting dressed, adjusting his dick to be as unobtrusive as possible. This was going to be a long day.

Being the least banged-up and his face not being all over the news, Sam resigned himself to get breakfast. All three of them ate in the car, conversation slow and with no real substance. Lucifer appeared bored out of his mind with it and Sam’s donut turned into a bleeding, beating heart. He closed his eyes and bit into it anyway, fuck it all. It tasted like a donut. Today was going to be a good day.

There was no police present when they parked across from Caitlin’s old home. Dean didn’t like it. When they reached the fourth floor and still hadn’t had any trouble, dislike had turned into a bright red flag. He was on his way to Caitlin’s apartment, when she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“We have to talk to Mrs. Davies first. Explain that I’m fine.”  
“What the hell? NO!”  
“You don’t think she’s looking at us right now? How many seconds do we have before she calls the police, if we don’t talk to her?”  
“Dammit Caitlin, stop being fucking right, this shit ain’t funny.”

Sam turned his back on their bickering and rang the old lady’s doorbell. She didn’t answer. Caitlin gently pushed him out of the way.  
“Mrs. Davies, it’s okay. I just wanted to tell you that I’m fine. I’m sorry about last night, that was really crazy, huh? But I’m fine, I’m going away for a bit. Just here to get some stuff I left behind. Could you please just let me know you’re there?”

The silence behind the door was deafening. Caitlin couldn’t explain why she tried the handle, she didn’t want to scare her neighbor or invade her space, even if Mrs. Davies didn’t particularly give a damn about anyone else’s privacy. When the door opened easily to show an empty hallway, her heart became a jackhammer in her chest. The brothers exchanged quick glances and pushed Caitlin behind them, as they slowly advanced into the apartment, guns pointing, looking for all the world like professionals. Which they were, of course, just not soldiers or S.W.A.T. They were hunters.

Caitlin followed on silent feet, the silver knife ready, her eyes darting everywhere at once. She had only been here a few times for tea (heavily spiked with rum), but something wasn’t right in the living room. When the brothers signaled that the apartment was clear, Caitlin slowly lifted the hallway rug from the living room floor with shaking hands. A sob escaped her at the sight of the blood hidden underneath.  
“Well fuck,” Dean muttered and Sam put a comforting hand on Caitlin’s shoulder.

> They were monsters. Hungry predators. Invincible. Devious. They had found plenty of DNA in the girl’s apartment. Enough to know what the Winchesters had been up to since the last time. Enough to know everything there was to know about the girl. They didn’t get off on sex and definitely not with their own food; but they loved to play with their food, to spice up their meat with the taste of fear. They really really hoped the Winchesters would show up. They really hoped the girl would be with them.
> 
> “Are you sure we should put these on? The orders were not to give reason for any more press coverage for those chuckleheads,” Dean said, shaking his shoulders a little uncomfortably. It was a cool enough shape, but he didn’t want to get into trouble for using it. “There’ll be no press coverage, idiot. We’ll make a clean kill,” Sam said, standing up straight. Then he put a hand to his temple. “Jeez, this melon is disturbingly cracked,” he added with a shudder.
> 
> Something rattled by the door, and moments later the handle turned. They were ready.

Dean turned the handle and kicked in the door. He and Sam entered the apartment, once again in S.W.A.T.-mode as Caitlin had already silently named it. She followed after them, clutching the bottle of dishwashing soap they had found in Mrs. Davies kitchen tightly. 

“Oh great, again. How original. You guys have no idea how many times I’ve killed myself, have you?” Dean said from the living room. Caitlin frowned and moved forward. _‘What the fuck?’_  
Dean came into view, and answered his own question.  
“This isn’t for you, dumbass. Gonna have some fun with your girlfriend.”  
A shot rang out, Dean stumbled half a step backwards and icky black blossomed at his chest. Caitlin couldn’t even scream, before he started chuckling.  
“You know that only tickles.”

Then Dean’s voice sounded, even though his mouth wasn’t moving.  
“Caitlin! We need your help in here.” She didn’t even think before running forward, only to stop dead in her tracks when confronted with a second Dean. Her Dean, the Dean that had called out to her. Those monsters really could look like anyone, because yep, there was Sam, being restrained by Sam.  
Caitlin did as planned and doused the fake Dean in soap. His skin burned and shriveled, and the condescending smile left his face, as he gasped in agony. The real Dean swung his appropriated meat cleaver to decapitate the leviathan. Only it ducked backwards and drew a gun. Dean was going to rush it again anyway. Only it pointed the gun at Caitlin.

**Later**

“I have to say,” the leviathan currently posing as Dean gloated, “you’ve been causing us a lot of trouble. We expected more of a fight.” He looked over to where the Winchesters were kneeling, facing the wall with their hands bound at their backs. The girl was tied to a chair at the dining table. Another team of leviathans was on its way; capturing and killing the Winchesters had become so important that the accomplishment needed to be verified before they could claim it. The captives all sat in sullen silence. The two leviathans nodded at each other. Time to spice up the meat.

Leviathan-Dean’s skin was still burning and he probably looked like something out of a horror movie, but he moved to stand close behind the girl and grabbed her hair, to pull her head backwards and expose her throat. He licked a line from her collarbone to her ear.  
“Ready for some fun?” He gave his partner across the table a cheshire cat grin. When he let go of Caitlin’s hair, she turned her head and spat in his face. His grin got impossibly wider.

The slap zinged over her cheek, old familiar pain, and then the monster spoke in a tone belonging right there with the pain.  
“Shouldn’t have done that, sweetheart. You know what’s gonna happen next.” She fought the strip binding her to the chair, fought so hard blood trickled over her hands. The pain helped. _They’d_ lock her in a room and _they’d_ hold her down; _they_ didn’t tie her up. She couldn’t cook for them while being tied up.

Dean heard the whisper of his own voice behind him, malicious and poisonous. Caitlin’s breathing was ragged and the leviathans needed to stop. He kept his gaze at the wall. It was off-white. Right in front of his face, there was a long crack in the paint. Staring at it, he imagined he could make it open into a portal. The bastards were deliberately trying to send Caitlin to that place, the place where he she had gone to, when he found her in the bathroom what seemed like an eternity ago. 

His small blade, conveniently concealed in the lining of his jacket sleeve was gone, confiscated. Three strips kept his hands in place, too tight to wriggle out of. He ached to scream at them to fucking stop already, but there was nothing he could give them that would make them. They were just waiting for someone to break. Then someone did.

“Please no, don’t, please stop, don’t do it. Daddy, pleease!” Caitlin screamed, sobbing. It was more than Dean could take and he was up and going without even realizing. He heard Sam scrambling to his feet next to him, the leviathans had sure known what they were doing. Breaking one had broken them all. Now it was time to show them what a mistake that was.


	26. On the run

The leviathan standing over Caitlin was still chuckling when Dean ran into him full force, shoulder first. He stumbled and landed on his back and Dean closed his eyes as he jumped onto the monster’s head. The squishy sound made him nauseous but it wasn’t even a kill, just a lucky break while the thing got itself together again. Sam had the other leviathan pinned against a wall, using the only weapon available to him; his teeth. Dean looked away in disgust and hurried to the kitchen for a knife. As soon as the strips were cut from his wrists, he went to Sam. 

Sadly, a severed neck artery and disgusting amounts of splashing black goo wasn’t enough to hinder a leviathan, and by the time Dean was loose and had grabbed the meat cleaver, the monster was holding Sam up against the wall, beating him repeatedly with unrelenting force. At least it was so consumed by rage that it didn’t even notice Dean until its head flew off. Dean managed to catch Sam before he crumpled to the ground.

“Hey little brother,” he murmured, gentle fingers testing Sam’s face for injuries. “You with me?”  
Sam let out a groan.  
“C’mon Sam, Sammy, can you stand on your own?” While trying to get Sam to talk, Dean reached around to cut open the strips binding Sam’s hands together.  
“Ugh.” Sam rubbed his wrists and felt his face with his own hand. “I’d really rather not.”  
“Please Sam. Caitlin…” Dean dared a look at her. She was sobbing with her eyes closed. Did she even know the tables had turned? Sam nodded, understanding Dean’s concern. He reached out his hand for the kitchen knife and stumbled his way to Caitlin, while Dean severed the now deformed and wax-like head of his leviathan doppelganger from the body.

Sam knelt next to Caitlin and started on the strips binding her to the chair.  
“Caitlin, you with us?” There was no reaction to his words. He kept his voice carefully soft and low. “Caitlin, they’re gone. They can’t hurt you. I’m cutting you loose.” Even as her hands fell limply to her sides, she didn’t open her eyes. Sam took one of her hands in his to check her still bleeding wrist. He winced at the sight. That was going to need bandages. 

“How’s she doing,” asked Dean from where he was stuffing both the leviathan’s heads in a kitchen cupboard.  
“I can’t reach her,” Sam told him.  
“Goddammit,” Dean growled. “This is my fault. You were right. We shouldn’t have come back.” Dean’s eyes lingered on Sam’s bruised face before landing on Caitlin, still sobbing quietly. “Might as well get what we came here for,” he muttered and went into the bedroom to retrieve the old photo album. Sam raised an eyebrow when he re-emerged. “Yeah yeah, she’ll kill me for knowing about it, but at least she’ll still have it,” Dean grumbled.

Dean handed the album to Sam and carefully picked up Caitlin. The exercise was almost becoming familiar. Thankfully she didn’t suddenly start hitting him or screaming for help, and he got her out the door, where Sam waited, a finger on his lips. From further down the stairs, multiple sets of footsteps could be heard. Sam pointed at the door to Mrs. Davies apartment and Dean nodded. They slipped soundlessly inside and Sam took up the old woman’s favorite position at the peephole.

“The police have finished with the crime scene?” an Afro american man asked the two other guys climbing the stairs with him.  
“Yes, they don’t expect to find anything here,” one of them said, slightly out of breath. Sam judged him to be of Italian heritage.  
“Do we?” the third guy, Caucasian with dark hair and slightly taller than the first man, asked. “Wherever Ms. Smith is, she is not in control. Whatever her home might tell us about her, I think we’re wasting our time.”  
“What do _you_ think we should be doing then?” the Italian asked. There was no answer.

Sam turned to Dean, who was still holding Caitlin.  
“I don’t think they’re leviathan. I think they’re profilers.”  
“Does that make us more or less fucked?”  
“I’m not sure. Let’s get out of here.”

They didn’t meet anyone else, as they quickly and silently moved down the stairs and outside. Caitlin didn’t react to being laid down in the backseat and soon they were tearing up tracks out of Seattle. Sam kept his head down until they reached a truck stop twenty miles south of the city where he could wash up. He didn’t complain but being covered in black leviathan blood was not only icky, but itchy as well. After washing up and changing clothes, he felt a lot better. As they sped off, he sat in the backseat with Caitlin and took care of the abrasions on her wrists. He hummed softly and soothingly but she didn’t react.

Every fifteen minutes, Sam tried to get Caitlin to answer him, and every time Lucifer would tell him he was making it worse. Sam was half convinced she would never become lucid again, when she finally reacted well into the evening. She sat bolt right up, her eyes wide with fear.  
“Hold on a second, Caitlin, we’re us. You’re safe. We’ll prove it. Dean, pull over.”

As soon as the car stopped, Sam ran to the trunk and found a bottle of soap. He let Caitlin see how it didn’t hurt him, and then opened the driver’s door to douse some on Dean’s neck. That, of course, caused a lot of grumbling protests and promises of swift retribution, that more than anything made Caitlin feel better. They drove into the next town, switched cars, and Caitlin insisted on taking a closer look at Sam’s face, only to reach the same conclusion as Dean; painful and colorful but nothing seriously damaged. 

They spent the night in the car, the brothers taking turns driving. An entire day’s drive away from Seattle, they felt safe enough to take a break. Sam used his ‘mad hacking skillz’ as proclaimed by Dean, to find them another run-down house in Tucson to squat in. When they arrived they were pleasantly surprised to find it huge and mostly furnished. Dean threw open the door to the third bedroom _with_ a bed and mattress.  
“You want your own room?” He looked at Caitlin hesitantly. She shook her head vehemently. Dean smiled and looked relieved. “Okay.”

> Senior supervisory special agent David Rossi from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit stood in Ms. Smith’s bedroom and tried to get a feel for the person who had lived there for ten years according to the landlord. It had been hours since they first entered the apartment, shocked to find it a crime scene and not just a point of interest. The two headless bodies had been warm still when they entered the place, and Rossi couldn’t help wondering what they would have found, if they had arrived sooner.
> 
> A preliminary investigation of the scene had left them dumbfounded, as they waited for backup. If the bodies were still warm, why was the blood completely black and syrupy? Blood never looked like that and no drugs or chemicals they could think of would make blood coagulate in such a manner. Then Agent Morgan found the missing heads in the kitchen and things made even less sense. They all recognized the Winchesters, FBI’s most wanted a few months ago; even mangled as they were. It would seem the Winchesters were dead. Again, one might add. 
> 
> The older Winchester had been doused with acid, shot in the chest, then his head had been bashed in and cut off, while the younger Winchester had a bite through tendons and arteries in his neck, bad enough to kill him on its own. Yet he too, had been decapitated. That suggested a lot of rage, and required a lot of strength. Since they had apparently been alive yesterday, the descriptions given by witnesses matched them to the mysterious men living with Ms. Smith, killing the women in the alley (who still hadn’t been identified), and taking off with the young woman. 
> 
> They had spent the time others processed the crime scene calling employers and professors, trying to find out everything they could about Ms. Caitlin Smith. It turned out to be frustratingly little, yet enough to make her a possible suspect. Though not many would mourn the loss of the Winchesters, a double homicide like this probably wouldn’t be the last. According to her file, Caitlin Smith had grown up in an orphanage, dropped out of high school at sixteen and roamed the streets for two years. At eighteen the girl had suddenly gotten her act together, moved into this apartment and worked hard towards her GED. She was now close to finishing her internship at the university hospital.
> 
> Something bothered him about the sudden shift from wayward to ambitious; people didn’t change like that overnight for no reason. 
> 
> Moreover, Caitlin Smith was a black belt practitioner of jiu jitsu and aikido, and had a gun licence. A few calls confirmed that she was known as a proficient shot at the local gun range. For the past ten years she had been working alongside her studies, bartending mostly. Her latest employer didn’t have anything nice to say about her, as he had apparently fired her only a week earlier, though he wouldn’t give any details on the phone. Morgan and Hotchner was on their way to speak to him while Rossi stayed behind.
> 
> Rossi considered the bed. Two pillows were rumpled, the covers had been hastily thrown over it and were slightly skewed. It went against everything else he had seen in the small apartment. Ms. Smith would be the type of person to make the bed meticulously every morning. Except the last time she slept here, she didn’t sleep alone, and she didn’t bother making the bed as usual. Then she climbed down a fire escape, ended up in a deadly battle in the alley below, before she got into a car with the notorious Winchesters. The next day the Winchesters turned up extremely dead in her home and she was still AWOL. 
> 
> Frowning, Rossi reached a hand down under the bed, hoping to find some kind of memento from the mysterious woman’s past. He found nothing.
> 
> Back in Quantico, technical analyst Penelope Garcia was looking through the file on the girl they had been desperately trying to find alive for the past day, only to learn that she might _be_ as much danger as they had thought she was _in_. While a girl taking out two (supposedly dead) serial killers sounded like Sunday morning puppies and rainbows, Garcia understood the concern. Decapitation, neck biting and skull crushing did seem a bit… excessive. She bit her lip as she compared the bank account to the file. There just wasn’t enough digital footprints of the girl’s life until ten years ago. Garcia worked her magic.
> 
> When agents Morgan and Hotchner left the bar owner they had interviewed they both felt a little dirty just for being in the same room with the man. Apparently Dean Winchester was Caitlin’s jealous boyfriend and had beat the man up for looking at her wrong. There was still traces of black around one of his eyes to support the story. Hotchner’s phone rang before they could discuss the implications of the bar owner’s statement - and what truths they sensed behind it.  
>  “Ms. Smith didn’t exist until ten years ago,” Garcia told them, breathless with excitement. “It’s a fake identity.”  
>  “For crying out loud,” Hotchner cursed. “Then who is she?” There was a long silence.  
>  “I don’t know.”
> 
> It wasn’t five minutes later when agent Jareau, liaison with the press and the local police department called.  
>  “Apparently some people have showed up after watching the news, claiming that Caitlin Smith is really Sarah Stevenson, disappeared at age 16.”  
>  “Sure. Why not,” Hotchner sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Can’t wait to meet them.”
> 
> Caitlin Smith or, they had to concede, Sarah Stevenson’s adoptive father and brothers were aggressively suggesting that not enough resources were spent, trying to find their relative. They wanted to know about the investigation, about her life in Seattle, about when they could take her home. They gave the entire team the creeps. 
> 
> Sarah Stevenson had run away from home at sixteen and showed up as eighteen years old Caitlin Smith just five months later. What she had been doing for five months and how she had found someone to help her build a fake identity as well as the money to pay for it, no one knew. But as soon as she had become Caitlin Smith, she had worked tirelessly to become a strong, independent and academically achieved woman. 
> 
> Several mannerisms in all three men screamed ‘abuser’ and while they wouldn’t be able to prove anything without the woman in question’s statement, the agents of BAU all had their theories as to why she had run away.
> 
> Agent Morgan gladly took it upon himself to inform the family that they would not, in fact, be getting any updates on the whereabouts of one Ms. Stevenson/Smith. As her stepfather raised protests, Morgan firmly rejected him.  
>  “She was a minor when she disappeared, but she has been rightfully making her own decisions for eight years. Those decisions included deliberately NOT having any contact with you, as well as NOT naming you her emergency contact. Therefore you will NOT receive any information about the investigation. Now leave before we arrest you for obstructing our work.” Morgan smirked at the man, hoping he would snap and try to clock him. Fists clenching and face red, he withdrew, only to stop at the door and shout back to Morgan.  
>  “This isn’t over, punk!”
> 
> Morgan simply shook his head in disgust as he headed back to the room where the rest of the team had assembled to go over facts. When he entered, it was to find the room in upheaval.  
>  “Guys, what happened?”  
>  “Apparently the Winchesters’ bodies have gone missing from the morgue,” Hotchner answered, looking both angry and tired to the bones. Morgan frowned.  
>  “Anything on the security cameras?”  
>  “Nothing,” Hotchner said. “No loops, no outages, no flickers, no suspicious persons. Nothing.”  
>  “That’s it!” Garcia ranted on the video link from her office. “I don’t care if they blow up the white house. If I ever see the name Winchester again, I’m taking a month off.”  
>  “Easy, Mama,” Morgan smiled. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.” 
> 
> Secretly he doubted she would this time though. He was suddenly back in Chicago, a rookie, observing a black classic car pull up next to the crime scene he had recently helped process. He had been off duty and gone in after the two suspects alone; cocky and eager to prove himself. He remembered the gruff voice telling him to “duck!” and the deafening sound of a shot fired in a tight basement; the feeling of something whizzing closely over his head. The shouting match between him and the guy with the shotgun, ending with them both flying through the air as a see-through mangled form advanced on the man with the pickaxe, digging a hole in the floor.
> 
> Eventually bones had been salted and burned, beers had been consumed, and Morgan had learned that ghosts were real and that John Winchester and his oldest son, Dean, laid them to rest - and hustled pool, which cost him a hundred dollars that night. 
> 
> It had been some years later, shortly after Morgan transferred to BAU, that he ran into the brothers Winchester on a werewolf case. Once again he had managed to get himself into the line of fire and they had saved his bacon. Beers had been consumed, pool had pointedly not been played, and Morgan had learned that monsters were real, too. Also, the ‘acid’ on the Dean Winchester they had found was soap, so it had thankfully not been the man himself, but Morgan was not about to ruin the ‘fun’ for the rest of the team by telling them. He’d only end up being benched interminably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you can read the second drabble in 'Extras and Outtakes' without being spoiled.


	27. Interlude

After a night of blissful, much-needed sleep, the trio of fugitives sat in the living room of the empty house, going over their plans. There was no breakfast though they were all starving.  
“We need cash,” Dean said. He was flicking aimlessly through the yellow pages of an old phone book. “Sam do you think it’s possible to hustle some pool here without getting our asses dragged to the station for being kidnappers?”  
“They haven’t released any pictures of us on the news yet.” Sam was on his laptop, using his phone to access the Internet. He was scrolling through obituaries and news articles, looking for cases without conscious thought. “I guess they found the leviathans, so they’re probably not looking too hard.”  
“Awesome. Now if we just had something for our starting bet, but we’re completely broke.” Dean threw the phone book into a corner, frustrated.  
“You have something to bet,” Caitlin argued.  
“Yeah? What’s that?” Dean gave her belligerent look.  
“Me.”

“Have you lost your goddamned mind?” Dean was angry, angrier than Caitlin had ever seen him. She wasn’t impressed.  
“Not the last time I looked. What’s the problem?” She stood, arms crossed, leaning a little towards Dean.  
“We’re not using you as fucking bait!”  
“Why not, afraid you’ll lose?”  
“Of course not. But…” he trailed off, looking for reasons. “You’re wanted, you were on the news.”  
“Three states away. And I managed to get a five-finger discount on this the last time we stopped for necessities.” She held up a package with a picture of a blonde on it. “I hear blondes have more fun.”  
“Jesus Caitlin, the guys in a place where a trick like that’ll work are gonna be predators. You don’t wanna spend the night in a room full of that kind of people.” Dean’s voice cracked with frustration. He turned his back to her and ran a hand through his hair.  
“I’m sorry, where did we meet again?” 

Five hours later, Caitlin and Dean walked into a dive bar, worse than any place she had ever worked. Sam would be making his entrance at a later time, ready to back them up if needed.  
“I really don’t think we should do this,” Dean muttered under his breath, as they paused just inside the door to scope the layout of the place.   
“Good thing you’re not the boss of me, then.” Caitlin huffed, and did absolutely not tug at the hem of her cut-off shirt to cover her bare stomach. 

Her jeans had been turned into shorts, showing off her newly shaved legs. Exposed didn’t begin to cover her feelings about the outfit, but she had made it and put it on herself, while warmed on the inside by Dean’s continuous vehement protestations (and hidden lingering stares). Every time her hair got into her face, she felt a strange disconnection to everything. She had never dyed her hair before and the light blond strands were vastly different from her usual dark locks.

Someone gave a loud wolf whistle as she headed across the room towards the bar at Dean’s heels. She made sure to make eye contact with the man and let the corners of her mouth tug slightly upwards. She felt nauseous and a little faint, but no one but her needed to know that. The better she played her part, the sooner they would be able to leave.

Dean grabbed a beer at the bar, thus spending their last few bucks. He’d been lurching a little since they exited the car, playing the part of someone who’d had one too many already.  
“C’mere sugar,” he said and dragged Caitlin towards the pool tables by her hand. There were three of them, all taken. Three huge guys in leather and denim that looked like bikers stood at one, a couple of drunken hicks at the other, and a group of five young men, that looked like frat boys slumming it, occupied the third table. The frat boys’ clothing looked expensive, one was taking a selfie with an iPhone, another was just pulling his sleeve down to cover a Rolex.   
“Jackpot,” Dean smirked and went to observe their game with poorly hidden disdain on his face.

“Hey old man, what’s your problem,” iPhone frat boy was soon to ask, when he fumbled a shot and heard Dean tsk.  
“No pro’lem,” Dean slurred. “You’ve got loads, though. Can’t use that stick for anything good. Amateurs. The lot of ya.”  
“Yeah? You think you can do better?”  
“Pfft, I know I can. I could beat you boys blindfolded, one arm tied on my back.” Dean moved to sit back nonchalantly in a chair but missed the mark by several inches, narrowly avoiding toppling to the floor. The frat boys all laughed, and Sam who had just entered the bar couldn’t help a smile. Dean always overdid it.  
“Prove it, Grandpa. Buy-in’s fifty bucks.”  
“Don’t have fifty bucks. Won’t lose anyway. Heck, if I do, you can take her,” Dean said and pointed to Caitlin, who pretended to look shocked.  
“Hell no, you can’t bet me,” she hissed at him. “You’re too drunk to play.”

The boys were eyeing her up and down appreciatively.  
“You shouldn’t be sorry about that, honey,” iPhone-guy said. “I promise you’ll like me better than him.” Caitlin gave him a once-over, then looked back at Dean, eyes narrowed in mock anger.  
“You could be right,” she admitted with a coy smile when she turned back to their mark. The guy turned to Dean.  
“Looks like you’ve got yourself a bet. You win, you get fifty bucks. I win, I get her.” The guy looked at Caitlin and actually managed to look slightly apologetic. Dean stumbled to his feet, staggering a little.  
“No, man,” he protested. “You get an hour with her. You want her to stay with you, you gotta show her she’s worth more’n fifty.” Their mark wasn’t happy, but he looked at Caitlin again and nodded.  
“She is,” he admitted, and threw down two hundred dollar bills. “Are we on?”  
“Sure,” Dean said, and wobbled to the table. “Go ahead ‘n break’em.”

Their mark got a pretty good start, and the group erupted in wild cheers, drawing the attention of the other players.  
“Whadda’ya betting on?” one of the hicks asked, and the frat boy with the rolex pointed at Caitlin. She squirmed a bit under the unwanted attention, as the hick stepped closer, licking his lips and nodding in appreciation. He looked at the wad of bills on the table’s edge.  
“Whadda bargain,” he said, pursing his lips. 

Caitlin started feeling cold all over, images of Dean losing and being sold to the hick flooding her mind. Then Dean pushed the hick away rudely and leaned in. To the casual observer he appeared to be holding her by the hair and squeezing her body against his own, while he spoke directly into her ear. To Caitlin it felt like a light hug, the contact soothing and reassuring. She knew all she had to do was push and Dean would let her go.

“Caitlin, if this gets to be too much, you just say so. Hell, just punch someone. I don’t care if it’s me. Don’t you dare do anything you’ll feel bad about in the morning, you hear me?” He drew back slightly to watch her expression, checking she was okay. Caitlin couldn’t help herself then, she firmly put her hands on his cheeks and drew him towards her. Her lips ghosted over his, that were lined with two days’ worth of stubble, tasting of beer and half open in surprise.  
“Thank you,” she whispered, before winking at their mark. He looked slightly dismayed at the sudden display of affection. 

Then Caitlin opened her mouth again.  
“Show them what you’ve got, baby,” she told Dean, loud enough for the guy to hear, and his eyes widened for a second, then narrowed. Dean picked up the cue stick and gave him a bright, dishonest smile, before steadily walking to the table and sinking in ball after ball, calling each shot before he made it.

Someone huge suddenly loomed over Dean. Caitlin sucked in a breath, as she realized that the attention from the middle table, had alerted the bikers to what was going on. The man was bald, had several piercings and tattoos and was wearing a leather vest. The back had a black and red eclipse with a white fist in the middle, the letters B.A.C.A. written on the knuckles. She read the words written around the circle and gasped. There was going to be trouble.  
“You used your lady for a bet?” the biker asked Dean, tone low and threatening. The sudden words so close to him caused Dean to jolt, missing his shot.  
“I wasn’t planning on losing her, so thanks for that, man,” he bit out.

Their mark hurried to take his next shot, determined to finish the game without giving Dean a second chance to win. Caitlin sidled up to him with a winsome smile.   
“Do you like blowjobs?” she whispered. The guy nodded, swallowed and leaned over to take his shot. “I deepthroat,” Caitlin told him, leaning in next to him, giving him a good view of her cleavage. The cue ball shot into the air and off the table, Caitlin breathed out deeply and turned to find Dean and the biker in a staring contest.  
“Honey, you’re up again,” she told Dean, giving him a light push towards the pool table and taking his place in front of the pissed off mountain of leather. 

Dean hesitated until she waved him on. Their mark stood next to him, looking thoroughly disheartened. No doubt he had figured out their con by now, but it was impossible to tell if he mourned the loss of his 200 dollars more than the chance to take Caitlin home.

“You need help, little one?” the biker asked. This time his voice was a gentle rumble. Caitlin stepped a little closer.  
“Thank you, but no thanks. I know how it looks, but I… it was my idea.” The man narrowed his eyes at her. “He’s not gonna lose,” she explained hurriedly. “But even if he did… “ she shrugged. “I can take care of myself.”  
“Don’t say that if you need to hustle pool to get by. Get a job.” Caitlin gave a bitter laugh.   
“Had a job. Things got messy. He got me away from there.”   
Caitlin jerked her thumb at Dean.   
“He’ll help me get set up somewhere else; and he’ll never ask me for anything in return.” The biker didn’t look entirely convinced. He raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘go on’.  
“Do you know what he was saying to me, when you came over?” The biker shook his head no. “He told me that all I had to do was say so, and we’d leave. Do you know what I had to do to convince him to do this at all?” The biker shook his head again, the corners of his mouth starting to tug upwards a little. “I told him I’d tie him up and run off to turn tricks.”

It wasn’t quite the way the conversation had gone, but it was more or less the gist of it. The biker barked out a laugh.  
“You threatened to tie him up?”  
“I could and he knows it. Only because he’d never actually hurt me, though. Don’t pick a fight with him.” Caitlin held the man’s eyes for a long moment, before he exhaled and the tension left his body.  
“You two are quite the team, aren’t you,” he said, but he was smiling. Caitlin shrugged again.   
“Mutual beneficial advantages makes for good alliances.”

“I’m Matt,” the biker introduced himself and they shook hands.  
“C… Sarah.” Caitlin smiled at him. “You know, I read an article about Bikers Against Child Abuse a couple of years ago. You guys do amazing work.” Matt looked down and his cheeks turned red.  
“It’s nothing,” he murmured.  
“It’s not nothing,” Caitlin said. “If I’d known about you guys ten years ago, maybe I’d… maybe I’d done some things differently.” Matt nodded solemnly.   
“Well, you know about us now,” he said and gave her his card. “Call if there’s ever anything I can do for you.”

Dean finished the game and snatched up his hard earned cash only to find his pretend girlfriend hugging a biker. He hurried to her side, incredulous.  
“Hey, you okay?” He reached out to touch her shoulder but left his hand hanging in the last moment. Caitlin simply laughed and let go.  
“I’m fine. Ready to go?” Dean glanced confusedly at the biker, his feet not moving. “This is Matt,” Caitlin told him. Matt held out his hand.  
“You take care of your girl, now,” he said as he squeezed Dean’s hand hard enough remove any doubts as to whether Matt’s bulk was fat or muscle.  
“As much as she’ll let me,” Dean answered, still nonplussed.  
“Good answer,” Matt smiled and winked at Caitlin, as she dragged Dean away by his still throbbing hand.


	28. Caught in a Dream

Before moving on to the next bar, Caitlin was dropped off at the house. While Sam waited in the car, Dean followed her inside, as if to make sure she’d be comfortable, and told her to get some sleep.  
“You’ll be driving first tomorrow,” Dean told her. “Only fair when me’n Sam have to work all night.”  
“I thought it was my ass on the line?” She arched an eyebrow at him, a small smile tugging the corners of her mouth upwards. “I thought I was the one putting myself in danger, being irresponsible, playing with fire?” Dean’s expression went from amused to pinched.

“About that… what was up with that biker? Did you know him?” Caitlin busied herself with studying the floor. “Caitlin, it’s kind of important. We’re on the run, in case you hadn’t noticed.”  
“NO!” The sharp sound of her voice shocked her into abrupt silence. She swallowed and started again. “No, I didn’t know him, Dean. Yes, I have noticed that our situation is screwed up. Just…” she trailed off and started towards their bedroom. “Just go back out there and leave me alone. I’ll drive tomorrow.” She entered the room and closed the door behind her without even looking Dean’s way.

Caitlin missed Dean’s warmth next to her and her sleep was fitful until she dug Matt’s card out of her pocket and clutched it tightly in her hand. That gave her a few hours of much needed near comatose sleep. She woke up to find Dean passed out next to her, smelling of cigarettes and stale beer. As happy as she was to have him next to her, the smell (and the snoring) quickly became too much for her. She got up and tucked Matt’s card back in her purse, before hesitantly extracting Dean’s wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, neatly folded on top of a dresser.

She held back a low whistle at the size of the wad of cash in it and grabbed a twenty. Then she strolled a few blocks away from the house and started running. She hadn’t done any physical training since meeting Dean that fateful night, and when her side began to sting she cursed herself for it. She usually spent an hour every day and two on weekends staying in shape, going to the gun range or the dojo to hone her self defense skills. Puffing and wincing, she found a bakery and got them a nice breakfast, coffee included and thus had to walk all the way back.

Dean had heard Caitlin rummage around and opened one eye a fraction to see her messing with his wallet. He figured she might have come to her senses and was ready to make a run for it, so he didn’t try to make it any harder for her, though his gut clenched at the thought of her gone. Or maybe it was just the hangover. Yeah, probably. He pretended to be asleep until she left and then went to see how much she had left for him and Sam. When he found all the money still there, he drew in a deep breath. Was it relief or disappointment? He didn’t know for sure, but his stomach growled and he decided not to care, as long as she brought food. And coffee. Coffee would be awesome.

xoxoxox

Caitlin woke up in a wider bed, a brighter room. She sat up and looked around. There was a lot more furniture than in the room they were squatting in. She couldn’t find the clothes she had been wearing but in a closet she found clothes that fit her. More disconcertingly, in another closet she found a man’s clothes. As she stepped out the door and walked through the house she had woken up in, she slowly began to feel like she was floating above herself, watching. _‘Did I die? Where am I? What is this place?’_

She never really voiced the questions even to herself, as she looked at photographs lining the walls. The few strands of hair the chemo left her mother with had been grey, but now she was looking at pictures of her mother as an elderly silver haired lady wearing thin, gold rimmed glasses and a happy smile. Her father standing next to her, looking every ounce the distinguished gentleman, watching his wife with such protective adoration, it made Caitlin’s throat close up.

A family of four stood under a tree, a swing barely visible behind them. A little boy, perhaps five years old, too busy cheering at a passing butterfly to look at the camera, a younger girl, judging by the light pink material of her clothes, riding her father’s shoulders, grinning so wide Caitlin could count all of her eight teeth. The father was looking upwards, probably enjoying the girl’s loud giggles, smiling broadly. He had blond hair and seemed tall, perhaps as tall as Sam Winchester, though nowhere near as muscled. The mother was… Caitlin gasped as she recognized herself, standing with a soft indulgent smile, a hand ruffling the boy’s hair, the other thrown around the father’s waist.

She still wasn’t breathing right, when a door opened to reveal the man from the picture.  
“Hey, Honey,” he said good-naturedly. “Did you have a nice nap?” He went and put his arms around Caitlin, who was so shell shocked she couldn’t even move, and pecked her on the mouth. The man let go again to give her a long, loving look.  
“You look more rested. Should we go out or order in, to celebrate our few hours of freedom?” He smiled and then continued “or maybe we should skip dinner and get to the fun stuff?” He leaned towards her, obviously angling for a real kiss. 

Caitlin finally managed to open her mouth and scream. She screamed and she ran. A confused voice behind her asked her what was wrong, but she kept running. She ran away from the strange house, the pictures, the children, the man. Ran into the street, not bothering to check for cars. A horn sounded, and everything went dark.

_She was hanging from a low ceiling, hanging by her tied wrists. Other people hung near her, unconscious. Everything seemed red, until covered by a blue haze.  
“You wished your parents were alive but you couldn’t live with the consequences? No matter. Wish again, pretty girl,” a voice cooed at her._

Caitlin woke up next to a snoring Dean, which was a little weird - hadn’t that happened already? And why were the drapes lime colored, when they had been hideously purple last night? Dean mumbled something in his sleep and reached out towards her, his hand coming to rest over her stomach. Her very much unclothed stomach.  
“What the shit?” she squeaked and jumped off the bed, clutching the cover in front of her to conceal all the naked skin. She was only wearing panties and a bra. And really? Lace?! Unfortunately, snagging the covers meant that Dean was now lying in full view, wearing only boxer briefs. Caitlin averted her eyes and could still see every single detail as if burned into her retinas. His broad muscled back, the curve of his ass, the slight stubble on his face, his sleep mussed hair.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” he asked, sounding sleepy and relaxed in a way she had never seen him.  
“Dean, wake up,” she urged him. “Something weird has happened. Look, everything’s different.” Dean managed to get his eyes to half mast and peered around the room.  
“Caitie, if you’re regretting the green carpet, you’ll have to change it yourself. I told you it was too dark.”  
“I’m not talking about the damned carpet! Hello, we went to sleep in that abandoned house in Tucson, remember? This room is way bigger!” Dean blinked several times before sitting up and reaching out to her. When she backed away from him, he looked… puzzled. Hurt even.

“Last night we went to the fundraiser at the hospital. You made me stay for two fucking hours. Then we came back here and you made it up to me.” His eyebrows waggled, suggesting exactly how she could have ‘made it up to him’ and Caitlin flinched, her heart no longer just beating too fast, but attempting to escape through her chest. “Then we slept. You should be on call in…” Dean’s eyes swerved to an alarm clock sitting at a bedside table, “three hours. Do you need to call in sick, Honey? Did you maybe get some bad shellfish or somethin’?”

Caitlin couldn’t move. She sat at the wall in this fancy, big ass bedroom, covering herself, looking anywhere but at Dean. Fundraiser. Hospital. He spoke as if they lived together, as if she was a doctor and he was her… her…  
“Dean, we’re on the run. You killed those amazons and the leviathans. Why are you talking about fundraisers?” _‘And what the actual fuck made you think I’d offer you sexual favors in return for going to one?’_

Dean’s eyes widened with worry. He reached out to her again, and this time she was cornered. His touch was as gentle and caring as she remembered, when he folded his arms around her.  
“Jesus, Caitie, how much did you drink last night? I thought you only had one of those bubbly drinks?”  
“I don’t know,” Caitlin sobbed. “I don’t know, I don’t remember anything. I was almost done with my residency when I ran into you, and then that ghost thing happened and I don’t know what this is, I don’t understand anything…”

“Sssssh, ssssh, Honey, it’s okay. I promise, we’ll figure it out, just… relax a bit okay?” Dean rubbed circles on her back as her crying slowly quietened. “I’ll just call the hospital and tell them you’re sick, okay?” he said then and lifted her onto the bed. He went into the hallway but Caitlin still heard every word.  
“Hi Ella, this is Dean. Caitlin’s not going to be able to work today… No, no I don’t think it was the food last night. I’m actually pretty worried about her, she’s acting like she barely knows me. I’m not sure what could cause those symptoms, a stroke maybe? I’ll bring her in, and you can give her a checkup, okay?”

Dean came back to the bedroom.  
“Come on, Caitie. Let’s find you some clothes. Your honored doctor colleagues are going to do a workup on that smart beautiful brain of yours, figure out what’s happening.”  
Caitlin couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was Dean, more so than the leviathan version of him had been. But he was also different. His muscles were a little less defined, his belly a bit mushier to look at, than it had been when she stitched him up. His scars were still there, though. The soft empathic way he spoke to her was off. Dean was all hard edges and repressed emotions, not gentle, caring and patient. Whatever was going on, was a serious mindfuck.


	29. Waking up

“You don’t think she just took off on her own?” Sam offered. Dean was wearing a hole in the floor, pacing back and forth.   
“She took twenty bucks, Sammy. She went for breakfast. Three hours ago.”  
“You don’t think the police [picked her up, do you?” Sam looked worried and then annoyed, as his hallucination of Lucifer danced around singing “Serial killed, serial killed. blooooood all oooooover.”  
“Nah,” Dean sighed. “She looks completely different with her hair blond. And we’re a long way from Seattle. I’m afraid it’s something worse.” Lucifer made a ‘ding ding ding, you got it’-motion, smiling an unnerving predatory smile, wide as the Mississippi. Sam pulled out his laptop.   
“I’ll check the local news.”

“I think we should try finding that biker from last night,” Dean said. “It was fucking uncanny, her hugging him like that all of a sudden.” Sam shook his head.  
“I seriously doubt that the biker had anything to do with this, unless she simply decided to go with him instead of us. Which would be a good thing, really.”  
“What?!”  
“You didn’t read what it said on his vest, did you?” Sam said. Dean shook his head. Sometimes Sam was a goddamned knowitall. “He was a member of ‘Bikers Against Child Abuse.’” Sam said with a sad smile. Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to speak.  
“She might actually have gone with him.” Unconsciously he rubbed his hand at his suddenly aching chest. “It’s good,” he nodded, blinking a little too fast. “It’s good.”  
“Let’s just make sure she really is safe,” Sam said. “Then we can get out of here.”

Fifteen minutes later, Sam set the laptop aside.“We might have a problem.” Dean hadn’t stopped pacing.  
“What? You mean Caitlin’s not with the biker of salvation?” His level of passive aggressiveness was suddenly through the roof. Aggressiveness, anyway. There wasn’t really anything passive about it.  
“Yeah, Dean. I’m sorry.” Sam stared at his laptop as he spoke. “There’s been a string of disappearances in this neighborhood. First one happened six weeks ago. Then someone new every eight to ten days.”  
“When did the last person go missing?” Dean spoke, his voice sounding a little hollow.  
“Nine days ago.”  
“Godfuckingdammit!” Dean yelled. Of course Caitlin could have been stopped by the police. She could have gone with Matt the saintly biker. But they were never that lucky. Never.

“Serial killer or supernatural?” Dean asked, shaking his hand free of the plaster of an innocent wall.  
“There’s no common nominators for the victims, and serial killers either travel constantly or stay in one place and they usually start up slow and then escalate. Besides, Caitlin wouldn’t exactly be an easy target for a human. I’m gonna go with supernatural,” Sam mused. 

There was another pause while Dean cursed the day he met Caitlin and the ghost that tried to off her, and made another couple of holes in the wall. After taking a few deep breaths, he returned to Sam.  
“Supernatural, gotcha. What? Where?”  
“Do I look like a crystal ball to you?”  
“No, you look like the jolly green garden gnome. C’mon, think, Sammy.”

XoXoX

Caitlin was finally allowed to get up, her breathing still ragged from the suffocating, claustrophobic atmosphere inside the scanner. The loud noises from the machinery had matched her heartbeat, making her feel like a ticking bomb about to explode. Dean was there waiting, folding her into his arms and just holding her and she let herself melt into the embrace. He smelled… wrong. Not like whiskey, leather, gunpowder and old spice, more like sanitizer, soap and something more expensive. She felt a weird sense of displacement [ _again_ ] and pushed him away.

“I don’t know you,” she whispered. Dean looked crestfallen.  
“Yeah, you do,” he protested. “We met here, at the hospital, your first rotation. I asked you out at least fifty times, and you said no every time.” He took her hand and let his thumb stroke her knuckles gently. “Then some creep tried to grope you while you were practically saving his life, and you kinda freaked. I sat you down in the break room at got you talking.”

Dean kept gazing into her eyes as if he could find answers there.  
“You think this is about what happened to you? Did something happen last night, maybe? I mean I wasn’t right next to you the whole time. Did I let something happen? I did, didn’t I? Oh God, Caitie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”  
“God, stop it, Dean. You’re babbling,” Caitlin shushed him, two fingers on his lips. Dean managed a surprised “mpfh” before staying silent, eyes big and wet, and still looking like a kicked puppy.

“I really don’t know what happened last night,” she said as they walked together hand in hand through the halls that she ought to know but didn’t recognize. “Either my real memories have been replaced with fake ones or this is some kind of dream.”  
“If this is the dream, don’t you dare wake up,” Dean said, squeezing her hand. Caitlin gave him a wan smile.  
“If you expect sexual favors from me, I might have to. I.. I can’t deal with that, Dean.” He practically rolled his eyes at her.  
“Well, duh. You’ve never been able to. I don’t care.”  
“But you said that last night... that we…”  
“Jesus, Caitie, I made you watch ‘High Noon’ again.”  
“Oh. But I thought… I mean, we were sleeping in our underwear?” 

Dean’s expression turned pinched.  
“Yeah. That coach you insisted on seeing back in January told you it might help you get more comfortable with uhm, intimacy. You’ve done it every night since.” Caitlin drew a deep breath, feeling muscles uncoil she didn’t even know she had. Then Dean continued. “I know I’ve said so before, but maybe now you’ll listen. Stop it. Stop trying to force yourself into something you’re not ready for. I miss being your good night teddy bear, I miss you resting your head on my chest, and I hate how you push me away if I as much as graze your skin in my sleep.” 

Dean walked a little faster, until he suddenly paused.  
“Can we swing by C12?” he asked. “Adam wasn’t looking too hot yesterday, I want to check on him.”  
“Sure,” Caitlin said, confused and curious, head still reeling a little.

C12 turned out to be a pediatrics ward and Adam was the nine year old kid in the bed, fighting an infection and waiting for a new kidney. When the door opened to reveal a visitor, his face lit up. Caitlin stood in the doorway, unnoticed and unsure of what to do.  
“Dean! I thought you were off today?”  
“I am, Squiggly. Just came to check on my little man. How ‘you doin’?” Adam hung his head a little.  
“Nurse Owens says the fever won’t break.” Dean bit his lip and looked worried all of a second, before briskly grabbing a rubber glove from a box over the sink in the corner.  
“We’ll just have to scare the fever away, then won’t we,” he said to Adam with a smile. 

Dean stretched the glove over his head, until his nose was covered. Then he blew it up so the glove looked like a cock’s comb on his head. As soon as he had pushed the glove up enough to be able to see again, he started making crowing noises and flapped his arms as imaginary wings, while Adam squealed with laughter.

“What is this ruckus in here?” a scandalized voice spoke behind Caitlin. A formidable woman in a nurse’s uniform pushed past her to stand in the doorway, hands at her sides. “Nurse Winchester! What do you think you’re doing?” Dean froze and turned, expression innocent and eyes a little too wide.  
“Running off a fever, nurse Owens,” he said. The otherwise intimidating nurse was standing so Caitlin could see the corner of her mouth quirk upwards. “I’m sure that fever is long gone by now,” Owens said sternly. “Now get out of here, it’s your day off for heaven’s sake.”  
“Yes Ma’am,” Dean grinned and winked at Adam. “See you tomorrow, Squiggly.” He pulled the glove down over his nose again and blew a lungful of air into it, making it whizz across the room.

As they walked back towards the main entrance, Caitlin still couldn’t believe what she had seen.  
“I didn’t know you were a nurse. A nurse, Dean, really?”  
“Hey,” Dean interrupted. “Nurses get to do all the interesting stuff, you doctors get the paperwork!” Caitlin huffed a short laugh. It was an old doctor/nurse jibe. Sure, the doctors got the paperwork, and the nurses had to deal with the bodily fluids. 

Dean glanced at her.  
“What else would I be?” Caitlin couldn’t answer that; couldn’t tell this gentle, playful version of Dean that she knew him as a bleak killer.  
“You’re right,” she ended up saying. “It’s cool.”

“When you woke up, you said something about squatting in a house and killing and something about a… ghost?” Caitlin stumbled.  
“I had a nightmare,” she lied. Dean raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t push.  
“So what do you remember?” he asked instead after an awkward pause.  
“Nothing. I don’t remember anything. I don’t know my specialty or how long we’ve been together and I don’t know what year it is.” Caitlin’s voice was laced with fear and frustration.

“You’re in oncology. We’ve been together for three years, and the year is 2016. Today is the 18th of May,” Dean said quietly. Caitlin stared at him, eyes wide with shock.  
“You’ve been with me for three years, even though I can’t handle sleeping next to you in my underwear?”  
“How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t care?” Dean countered stubbornly.   
“We’re not just really good friends, then? I mean, you go out and get laid once in awhile, right?” Caitlin couldn’t bring herself to think about the alternative. Dean sputtered indignantly.  
“The fuck? NO!”

“Jesus.” Caitlin said, wanting to shake Dean and ask him what kind of crazy he had. “What does Sam say about it?” Dean’s face turned white as a sheet. “What?” Caitlin asked, suddenly worried that he’d faint.  
“I never told you about Sammy,” Dean whispered. Caitlin frowned and Dean continued. “I told you my family died in a plane crash when I was seven. My mom, dad and my little brother. I never told you his name.” 

Caitlin remembered the tall and broad, soft spoken, geeky Sam Winchester.  
“How come you weren’t on the plane?” she couldn’t help but ask.   
“I was. I was up in the cockpit with a bunch of other kids, when suddenly everything … tilted. Sammy should have been with us, but he got airsick.” Dean’s hands were clenched in white knuckled fists, and his eyes were squeezed shut. “I didn’t wanna go without him, but dad told me to. That was the last time I saw them.”

“But I remember…” she began, only for Dean to open his eyes and grip her shoulders.  
“You have memories of Sammy? How?”  
“You were travelling together. You guys were really close.” Caitlin felt her throat close up a little at Dean’s anguished expression.  
“What…” He had to stop and clear his throat. “What was he like?”  
“He was taller than you, and really smart. You would tease him endlessly, and he would pretend to hate it; but it was so obvious that you’d die for each other if necessary.”

Dean swallowed visibly, loosening his grip on Caitlin’s shoulders only minutely.  
“You think, maybe, those memories are… that it could be real?”  
“I have no idea. I mean… they’re the only memories I have.” 

Something strange was happening. Caitlin felt dizzy. Dean looked worried, and she could see his mouth moving but couldn’t hear him say anything. Then everything shifted, and she was still looking at Dean. Wearing the same worried expression but instead of the olive green T-shirt, he was wearing his green coat. They weren’t in a hospital hallway but in a dark room with walls of concrete, a low ceiling and no windows. A basement, probably. Dean was holding her up, and she suddenly felt her entire body cramp up painfully. There was movement around them, she heard Sam’s voice, talking to someone soothingly.

“What’s happening? Is this… is this real?”


	30. Reality Check

Dean hugged Caitlin tight to him before lifting her into his arms and carrying her to their car of the week, cursing its too hard seats with too much space between them. Baby would have been the perfect place for Caitlin to lie down and relax. Instead she would be stuck half sitting up in the passenger seat.

“Dean, please. Are you real?” Caitlin’s hand clutched his T-shirt and her eyes seemed too big. Her voice was hoarse and her entire body was trembling.  
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m real.”  
“What happened?”   
“Djinn,” he said shortly, and of course that didn’t do anything to banish the fear and confusion from her expression. “You’re safe,” he added, but she remained tense. He framed her face with his hands, and did his best to calm her down. “I gotta go help Sam. I’ll be right back, I promise. Just rest.”

Though exhausted, Caitlin couldn’t sit still. Too many questions screamed for answers and she watched everything, the car, the street it was parked on, her own body, through a distant haze. She got out and ran her fingers across the car’s metal frame. It was gray beneath the mud, dull as every other color around her. She knelt on the ground, let her hands glide over the coarse blacktop and picked up a tiny white pebble. Her hair fell into her face as she looked down and she gasped; she had forgotten about the blond hair color, the pool game, Matt. 

“Caitlin,” Dean yelled as he ran back to the car, Sam walking gingerly behind him. “Caitlin, what are you doing down there?”  
“Remembering,” she answered. “I think I know this is real now. But what happened? What was I doing in that other place?” Both brothers had reached her now, and Sam answered her question.  
“It was a Djinn-dream. They’re poisonous. They create this dream world for your mind to live in, while they feed on your blood.” Sam opened the door to the passenger side and Dean grabbed her hand and hauled her to her feet. Caitlin let her fingertips drift across the puncture wound in her neck.  
“Charming,” she muttered.

“C’mon, we gotta go, the ambulance and the police are on their way.” Dean was practically shoving her inside the car and Sam had already gotten in the back.  
“Ambulance? What?” She fastened her seat belt, and her eyes stayed on Dean as he walked around the front of the car to get in the driver’s seat.  
“The victim from last week was still alive. Barely. The others...” Dean’s expression was grim. Caitlin realized that he had been shielding her from seeing most of the room, when he carried her away from there.  
“How many?” she whispered.  
“You were the seventh. In this location.” Dean’s voice cracked a little and he wasn’t looking at her. Caitlin’s hands flew to her mouth.  
“Shit!”

They drove in silence for awhile. Then Dean spoke.  
“Sam how are you doing? How’s the leg?” Dean wasn’t trying to get a glimpse of Sam in the rearview mirror. He kept his eyes on the road ahead, knuckles whitening where he gripped the wheel.  
“‘s fine.” A long silence stretched between them.  
“I’m so fucking sorry,” Dean suddenly admitted, causing both Sam and Caitlin to stare at him. “I should have had your back, man.”  
“Dean, you did have my back. I should have been able to take it alone, I knew it was there.”  
“I froze. I fucking froze. You could have been killed.” Dean’s voice cracked again.  
“I said I’m fine. Let it go.”

They drove for hours, not talking. Caitlin dozed in her seat, sometimes Dean woke her to make her drink soda or eat what she could from crusted gas station sandwiches. Finally consciousness reclaimed her and she caught road signs informing her they were nearing Shreveport, Louisiana.

“Are we stopping soon?” She asked. “Sam, I’d like to take a look at that leg, if you don’t mind.” Sam chuckled.  
“Welcome back, Caitlin. It’s nothing, really, but you’re welcome to do your thing.” She smiled at him, before turning to Dean.  
“You better find us someplace to crash soon, Mister. Your eyes are coming loose in their sockets and I don’t want to die in a ditch somewhere because you drove us off the road.” Dean raised an eyebrow at her, before his mask of arrogance wavered and he laughed.  
“Welcome back and yes, Ma’am,” he smiled.

They ended up in an isolated barn, twenty miles out from the city, having bought lots of bottled water and food at a Gas ‘n Sip an hour earlier. Sam’s leg was mostly just a bad bruise, and Caitlin couldn’t do much but tell him to take some Advil and stay off it when possible. Dean simply crashed on a hay bale almost immediately, his snores a blatant evidence of how exhausted he was. 

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked as he tossed a bag of Doritos at Caitlin. She caught them one handed.  
“Okay, I guess.” She opened the bag and put a couple of chips in her mouth. “Everything was just… weird and I didn’t know what was happening.” Sam nodded in understanding.  
“Dean got caught once, and even though he knew what was happening, it got him pretty turned around.”  
“How?”  
“That’s his story to tell, I guess,” Sam said with a glance at his sleeping big brother.

“I thought Djinns granted wishes but specialized in making them turn out bad. That’s what they’re like in stories,” Caitlin mused.  
“That ain’t half wrong,” Sam agreed. “See the dream world its victims enter are based on a wish.”  
“A wish?” Caitlin suddenly felt cold all over.  
“Yeah, a subconscious wish. Like it looks into your mind and figure out your heart’s desire or something like that.” Caitlin gasped.  
“No, that can’t be right. It can’t.” She looked at Sam in horror. _‘He was dead. In my dream he was dead.’_

“Sssh, Caitlin, not like that, whatever you’re thinking you misunderstand,” Sam was saying. “Your dream is built around one wish, but when you make the wish you have no idea what the consequences are. Your greatest wish can turn into a nightmare. Just like in the stories.” The word consequences bounced like an echo in Caitlin’s head until memories surfaced.  
“I woke up,” she exclaimed. “The first wish, it didn’t work and I woke up.”  
“How?” Sam asked, curious. Caitlin shrugged.  
“Got hit by a car, I think.” She felt herself breathing faster, as she began to understand. She had wished her parents were alive and the consequences, the fact that she’d be happily married with children, had killed her. Her second wish? That she could have met Dean under normal circumstances; that wish had been tweaked because it had to conform to her special kind of normal.

The Dean she had dreamed of had been orphaned at seven, and Caitlin had been on the streets long enough to know the horror stories of people growing up in ‘the system’. _‘He still had all his scars.’_ She got up and ran outside, dry heaving and panting. For ten years she had been free, but she had done nothing to free her mind. She had isolated herself so completely from everyone else that she hadn’t even noticed how far removed from _normal_ she was - until now.

Sam was by her side, rubbing her back gently, telling her to breathe with him, counting out her breaths. It took time for Caitlin to calm down somewhat, but when she did, she hugged him tightly to her.  
“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry,” she said and even though Sam had no idea why she would say that, he simply patted her back.  
“It’s okay. No harm done,” he told her soothingly, wondering what the hell she had been through while the Djinn had her. Lucifer was happily entertained and Sam couldn’t get his hands free to dispel him. He kept counting breaths, this time calming himself.

> Saul Mitchell slipped a hundred dollar bill to the cop at the front desk, silently cursing his stepdaughter. She’d pay him that money back with interest when he got her back.  
> “Please,” he said ingratingly. “I just need to know that she’s okay. Please, please call me, if there’s any news.” The cop swiped the bill off the counter with a quick glance to either side.  
> “Sure thing, pops. Will do.”
> 
> Saul looked around to make sure the arrogant nigger from a couple of days ago wasn’t around, before leaving. Outside, he gave his two sons a thumbs up. It had been ten years without a clue on Sarah’s whereabouts. Now, though... They’d get her back.


	31. When we sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I've had to rethink my initial tagging for this story. Today, I have changed the tags due to this chapter. If you have no triggers, don't look, just read. If you have triggers, please read the tags before proceeding with caution. Thank you.

Dean slept for three hours and woke up regretting it thoroughly.  
“Ugh,” he complained. “I think it would hurt less if my head was ripped off and attached backwards.”  
“My professional opinion is that you’re right, since you’d be dead if that happened,” Caitlin smiled.  
“Or a zombie,” Dean grinned. He turned towards Sam. “You know, we’ve never had a case with real zombies. Just croats and that crazy organ harvesting doctor.” Sam gave an exasperated snort at Dean’s plaintive tone.  
“Wait, an organ harvesting doctor? Now you’ll have to tell me about that,” Caitlin interrupted.

The brothers took turns telling her the story, Dean embellishing every detail and Sam trying to stick to reality. While they talked, Caitlin sat on the uncomfortable hay bale, directing Dean to the ground in front of her, so she could loosen his muscles a little. Thus, Dean’s side of the story was littered with little grunts and moans of pain and relief. 

“So yeah,” Dean finally ended the story, “Sam totally had me thinking we were going full on into a walking dead zone because of one crazy old fart.” Sam shrugged at Caitlin and gave Dean a look as if to say ‘you know why’ which Dean pointedly ignored.

“You guys sure have seen a lot of weird,” Caitlin mused. “I mean, there should be books about you. ‘The Winchester Adventures’ or something.” The brothers were both quiet long enough that the pause turned awkward.  
“Yeah,” said Dean at last, his voice strangely thin. “Should they be in the sci-fi or the fantasy section?” Sam stood up and began scooping up their things, pointedly not looking at Lucifer who said “Or non-fiction or religious texts?” and laughed heartily. Sam felt his hair try to stand on end at the sound as goosebumps spread everywhere, and shivered.

When they were all seated in the car again, Dean looked to Sam.  
“Where to now, Sasquatch?”  
“We should check in with Frank, see if he’s got any news on Roman.”  
“Right. The paranoid mandroid,” Dean said with a sigh.  
“He’s not a mandroid,” Sam said with a chuckle.  
“I know. But he is paranoid.” Dean turned the key in the ignition. “Alright, let’s go find a payphone and spend half an hour trying to look inconspicuous while coding the number and coordinates, and then wait for him to call.”  
“Good times,” Sam said. Caitlin sat in the back seat, patiently waiting for the brothers to remember her and explain Frank, the paranoid non-mandroid.

Hours later, when Dean had talked to Frank and Sam subsequently had confirmed that they ‘had dick on Dick’ a mysterious death had them heading north, towards Wichita. After a long drive, they found an empty house in a tough neighborhood and made sleeping pallets from blankets and bags. An empty rickety cabinet served as a barricade against humans, and all openings were salted. Sam spray painted devil’s traps on the doors and on the black tarp covering the mostly broken windows.

It was well after midnight when everything was secure and they sat on the floor, munching snacks and drinking sodas. Caitlin listened to the brothers talking about the case they’d be investigating the next day, something about a man found dead with giant suction marks everywhere and the blood drained from his body. _‘My life is so weird, how did I go from bartending and helping people with sprained ankles to this?’_

“Obviously, you’ll have to stay here,” Dean suddenly said to her. Caitlin bristled.  
“You know, as a doctor, I’m actually _required_ to see dead people from time to time.” She couldn’t help the sarcasm dripping from her voice. “I might be of help.” Dean fixed her with a firm glare.  
“You’re tagging along until we find you somewhere safe. You’re _not_ hunting.” His jaw clenched. “You’re not even going out to get breakfast, got it?” 

“Fuck you, Dean.” Caitlin’s eyes shone with angry tears, her cheeks flushed. How dare he? If she could just remember how the Djinn got her. Maybe she _had_ been weak and careless. Maybe Dean was right. She bit her cheek until it hurt, willing herself not to cry. Dean stared at her, expecting her to hit him or yell some more, biting back his own smart ass response of _‘yes please’_. The tension grew until Caitlin stood abruptly.  
“I’m going to bed.”

When Caitlin got back from the bathroom, Dean was waiting.  
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I didn’t mean to… Look, I just want you to be safe, okay?”  
“I know,” she replied. “And I’ve tried to be safe for the past ten years. I never realized how I... “ she trailed off, unable to finish.  
“What?” Dean asked softly, fists clenched to stop them from reaching out to her. The light from the lantern Sam had hung from the ceiling made it look like her large brown eyes were half hidden under strands of light. Caitlin closed the distance between them, molding her body against his and resting her head under his chin.  
“Being alive and safe isn’t the same as living,” Caitlin said, and locked her arms around his neck. Dean returned her embrace wordlessly, fingers spread wide across her back and in her hair.

It was some time later, in the faint glow of predawn that Caitlin woke from a dream of a dream. She lay pressed up against Dean’s side and watched his chest rise and fall in the slow, relaxed rhythm of sleep. Ten years. In ten years, she hadn’t allowed anyone close enough, for her to have this. If it wasn’t for Dean, she never would have. And there was still so much she couldn’t do, couldn’t have. It wasn’t fair. They had taken and taken and taken, and even now when she was free, they kept taking from her. Ten years and god knows how many miles away from everything they did to her, and her choices were still based on the past.

_Dean is dreaming. He’s in hell. He doesn’t know how that happened. Maybe the angels tossed him back. Not like Cas can get him out this time. Alastair is smiling, his eyes twinkling before going white._  
“There you are, Dean. What shall we do to you today? Your brother’s busy fucking a demon, drinking her blood. He’s really making your deal count, wouldn’t you say?” Dean can’t move, strung up as he is, already bleeding from half a dozen wounds. He spits in Alastair’s direction.  
“You’re lying. Sammy wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.” But he would. He did. Dean just didn’t believe it. Not then. Sam killed Alastair. Why is Alastair here? 

A soft whimper escaped Dean and Caitlin snuggled closer. His face contorted as if in pain. She stroked his chest and stomach, whispering soothingly.  
“Sssh, Dean, it’s okay. You’re dreaming. It’s okay.”

_Alastair takes a knife, slides it lovingly over Dean’s skin; his eyelids, his cheeks, his neck. He knows it’s coming, but the pain is still unbearable when Alastair slides the knife into his throat and leaves it there. Blood wells into his lungs and mouth, and Dean’s breath turns into ineffective gurgles. In hell, there is no reprieve; no unconsciousness, no death. He doesn’t need air but can’t help trying to get some. Can’t help feeling that he’s suffocating, choking on his own blood._

Caitlin didn’t know what to do, as Dean lay gasping for air in his sleep. Medically she was fairly sure nothing was wrong but whatever he was dreaming had him terrified and unable to breathe. She crawled up to kiss his cheek and rest her mouth at the corner of his.  
“Come on Dean, you’re dreaming. Breathe with me. Relax.”

_The peeler comes next. Of all the things that were ever done to him, he hated this most of all. Losing pieces of himself little by little, slowly diminishing, feeling the sharp blade bite into skin, muscles, nerves, tendons and bones equally, disregarding the blood constantly flowing. In hell, blood never stops flowing. Before he starts, Alastair asks his customary question.  
“You can end this, Dean. You can get down. All you have to do, is this.” He carves a long stripe of skin off of Dean’s thigh. It stings like a motherfucking bitch, but not as much as the next slice will; Alastair always dips the peeler in lemon juice in between his strokes. Dean’s voice doesn’t work with the knife lodged in his throat, so all he can do is flip Alastair the bird._

There was rage and terror and resignation on Dean’s face, and Caitlin put her hands on his cheeks and patted him softly. He didn’t react and she rested her forehead against his.  
“Dean, wake up, wake up. You have to wake up!”

_Gentle hands are taking him down, healing his wounds. At first he doesn’t understand. He didn’t say yes. But he did. One time, he did. All too soon, he’s whole again, being led back to the racks. He’s got work to do.  
The woman they take him to is strung up as he was, naked and already bleeding some. She’s quiet, but her brown eyes are huge, open wide with fear. He knows her. Knows Caitlin, and his chest hurts, it hurts so bad, and he’s sure his heart has stopped beating, but it’s hell. No reprieve, no unconsciousness, no death. Not for her, not for Dean. And Dean’s got work to do._

Another whimper from Dean had Caitlin almost in tears. Her hands drifted to his shoulders and she shook him hard.  
“It’s a dream, dammit, Dean. Fucking wake up already.”  
_Alastair hands him his favorite tool; the bullwhip. In the hands of an expert, like Dean, it can do almost anything. Small superficial scratches or bleeding gashes several inches long. And only he knows where it’ll hit so his victims can’t brace themselves for the pain. It’s all in the wrist._  
“Please, don’t,” Caitlin is saying, over and over. Dean can’t help a sneer.  
“Don’t beg me, bitch. You think you’ve had it tough? Someone made you suck their cock, fucked your holes? Boo-fucking-hoo. I’m gonna show you real pain. You’ll be begging me to let you suck me off before I’m done with you, you hear?”

Dean hadn’t really moved, but his entire demeanor suddenly shifted. His mouth was turned upwards in a cruel smile, and the tension in his muscles had turned into coiled readiness. Like he was hunting. Caitlin stopped shaking him, carefully monitoring what was happening.

_Dean ignores Caitlin’s hurt look in favor of stroking the whip lovingly. He’ll show her. All of it. The whip zings through the air, smarting over her left breast, and more blood flows. Over and over, he lets it fly, opening wounds everywhere on her body. Mostly, she’s silent, except for gasps and sobs. Hours, maybe days, later, Dean holds back the next lash of the whip._  
“You gonna suck me, bitch? Get down from there a few minutes?”  
She’s sobbing, but she’s also nodding.  
“What was that? I didn’t hear you, bitch!”  
“Yes,” she screams. “Yes, please, let me down. I’ll do it. I’ll suck you off, just stop.” 

Whatever Dean was dreaming now, it wasn’t a nightmare anymore. Caitlin had ended up straddling him, trying to shake him awake, and as he eased up, she had let herself slide down a little to rest her head close to the sound of his heart. Now she felt something poking at her stomach. Something that definitely wasn’t there a few minutes earlier.

_All it takes is a snap of Dean’s fingers and Caitlin is falling to her knees in front of him. He makes quick work of his jeans and pulls out his cock, hard and leaking, smearing precome on her cheeks and lips. He grabs a fistful of hair.  
“Open,” he says and she obeys, tears silently wetting her face. Dean wastes no time shoving himself down her throat, enjoying the way she gags, swallows and tries in vain to breathe. Not like she can actually die, not here._

_‘My choice,’_ Caitlin thought and didn’t move. Dean began to thrust his hips upwards, creating friction through the layers of fabric separating them. Her breath hitched, and her fingers gripped his shoulders frantically, as she let him move under her without pulling away.

_Caitlin’s hands flail against his thighs, pushing, she’s trying to get away, but Dean holds her easily. His balls tighten, and then she tries to scream though he hasn’t let her breathe for minutes. The vibration creates a delicious thrill, running through his entire body. He’s coming down her throat while she coughs and chokes and fucking milks his cock and it’s perfect._

Suddenly Dean stilled, letting out a hushed moan, and Caitlin felt the warmth and moisture from his release. She stared at him, wide-eyed and flushed, as his eyes flew open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you seen that this story has been turned into a 'verse? There are a few Extras and Outtakes concerning already published parts of the story that you can read without spoilery. Enjoy :)


	32. If it bleeds

At first, Dean thought he was dreaming, still. Then the fact that he was lying down with Caitlin on top of him registered. As she gave him a shy, winsome smile, the unmistakable sensation of having come in his boxer’s kicked in, and he was suddenly wide awake.  
“Oh God,” he croaked, and scrambled to get up, dislodging Caitlin in his panic. “I’m sorry. Sorry, so sorry.” He kept repeating ‘sorry’ as he grabbed a clean pair of boxers and some clothes in his duffle and ran off to the bathroom.

Caitlin let herself fall back on the pallet, dazed. There was a wet spot on her shirt, and she touched it reverently. Replaying the little noise and scrunched up face Dean had made, she felt something tighten in her stomach. It wasn’t unpleasant, but… strange. 

Dean stood in the old dirty tub, pouring bottled water over himself. His skin was easy enough to scrub clean, but it didn’t matter. Leaving only three bottles for the others, he toweled off and put on his clothes. Rather than going back to face Caitlin [oh god] he hurried to the front door, almost tossing the barricade aside to get out. 

He stopped at the sidewalk, looking around aimlessly. Heaving a sigh, he walked around back and retrieved some emergency cash from the car; his wallet was still inside the house. Armed with enough to pay for a diversionary breakfast, he walked briskly down the street, his head buzzing. 

What the hell had just happened. Never mind the nightmare or.. whatever. He’d had dreams like that ever since hell and he had never had any desire to do any of that shit when awake. Shit, he’d even dreamed it with Sam in Caitlin’s place more than a couple of times. Thankfully, those times he’d woken up before… before anything beyond the whip, or he’d have shot himself by now. But why had Caitlin been on top of him when he woke up? 

Also, coming in his sleep - not cool. Not cool at all. Christ, he was more than thirty years old. Then again, he had been celibate since Monster Bitch. He hadn’t even jerked off in the shower, his mind busy with hunting and… well maybe he didn’t like doing it when Caitlin was right outside. So what if she wasn’t interested and they were just friends - sleeping next to a girl like her night after night would give any hot blooded male blue balls. 

Wrapped up in his thoughts, Dean entered a 7-11, completely unaware of the security cameras’ angles. He bought plenty of breakfasty foodstuffs as well as snacks and sandwiches for Caitlin, because she’d be staying back in the house all day. He wouldn’t budge to her stubbornness this time. His eyes automatically went upwards and to the left, as he once again contemplated the position he had woken up in. It would probably be best to ignore it. Unless she decided to talk, he would pretend it never happened. That was Dean’s specialty anyway, according to Sam.

Caitlin worried a little when she heard Dean leave the house. But Sam was still here, so he’d be back. After the first hazy moments, she started feeling itchy all over, a silent scream of _‘wrongdirtywrong’_ rising inside her. Dean didn’t seem the type to be bothered by it, but Jesus, she had more or less molested him in his sleep. And he had apologized to her when he woke up. He couldn’t trust her anymore, shouldn’t. No more nights without nightmares, no more nights of feeling safe. What if he left her here in Wichita, what if he came back soon, only to pick up Sam and barely look at her before taking off, before leaving for good?

XOXOX

Dean came back to find Sam and Caitlin huddled over the laptop, looking over the coroner's report. Sam had been quick to take the tips Frank had given Dean on hacking and apply the principles elsewhere. Fucking nerd. Dean smiled to himself.  
“So I was hoping you could tell me what enteroctopus dofleini means in this context?” Sam was saying, frowning at the screen.  
“Uhm, I think it’s a species of octopus?” Caitlin said, puzzled. Sam shook his head.  
“We’re definitely gonna have to talk to the guy who wrote this crap.”

When Dean entered, carrying several bags and acting completely normal, Caitlin heaved a mental sigh of relief.   
“Sounds like a plan,” Dean said to Sam in response to the conversation that had been going on while he barricaded the door behind him. “Let’s eat.” 

Caitlin didn’t protest when they left her alone for the day. She was still worried that Dean might resent her and leave her behind. Besides, Sam made sure she had a load of books; old, dusty tomes and things that seemed like the ramblings of madmen. The only thing she’d be missing today was a couch to lounge on.

By the time the brothers came back with Chinese for dinner, she had learned more than she wanted to about old Mayan fertility rituals, the differences between Haitian and New Orlean's Voodoo practices, Catholic prayers and had given up on stomaching ‘The International Necromancy Spells and Rituals Compendium’. 

It was a quiet evening, no one was hurt for a change, and since another death had taken place already, the case was too high priority to waste energy on hustling pool. Dean made fun of Sam and Caitlin for ‘geeking out’ over the stuff Caitlin had learned during the day, until he got bored and snatched the necromancy compendium. Leafing through it, he managed to entertain the others with disgusted sounds and disdainful snorts. Finally he put it down, shaking his head.  
“People are crazy,” he muttered. 

He went to bed first and Caitlin followed a little hesitantly. He smiled at her invitingly and shifted to make room for her, arm outstretched and ready to hold her close. His heart was beating a little too fast as he watched her, but she went to him willingly.  
“I’m sorry,” she said when she was safely tucked against his side. “About this morning. I thought you were having a nightmare and I tried to wake you, but…”  
“I’m sorry,” he said, pressing a kiss into her hair. “I should have appreciated waking up like that a lot more than I did. ‘t was a nightmare, though. Sorry I freaked.”

The silence grew between them but it wasn’t uncomfortable. There were things neither of them were asking, because there were things neither of them were willing to tell; and that was okay. They had this.

XOXOX

Caitlin was bored out of her skull by noon the next day, when Sam banged on the front door and yelled for her.  
“Sam, what it is? Did something happen?”  
“I need your help,” he said, his eyes looking up at her pleadingly from two steps down.  
“Sure, okay,” Caitlin said, then she paused. “You don’t mind me testing you, do you?” Sam broke into a grin.  
“Not at all, good thinking.”

Five minutes later, satisfied that Sam was neither leviathan, shapeshifter nor demon, Caitlin strapped herself in the passenger seat, while Sam explained that the trail led to a burger chain specialising in children’s parties.  
“I have to sniff around and see what I can find,” he told her morosely. At her unspoken question, he added: “I hate those places. They reek of stale food, puke, abandonment and… and there’s clowns everywhere.”

Caitlin didn’t laugh, put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and when they stepped through the doors to ‘Plucky’s,’ she looked every inch the silent partner. When an employee dressed as a clown went to pass directly by Sam, she politely intercepted the person with a mumbled explanation about an FBI investigation. 

In the meantime, Dean had finished talking with the kid whose father had been murdered by what seemed to be a unicorn. Getting back to an empty house had been an unpleasant surprise. His calls going straight to Caitlin’s voicemail another. By the time she and Sam showed up, he was half convinced another Djinn had taken her and had no idea whether to hug her or yell at her. He stopped in his tracks where he had been pacing and waited.

“Hey, Dean,” Caitlin greeted him cheerfully. “You back already?” Her face fell when he didn’t answer and she registered his stony expression. “What’s wrong?”  
“I thought we agreed you’d stay here. Where were you?” She looked at him, perplexed, then glanced back at Sam, her eyes going wide.   
“Dammit, Sam. You couldn’t have at least called?” Dean was quick to shift the focus of his annoyance to his brother. Sam shrugged apologetically.   
“Didn’t have any juice on the phone. Figured we’d be back sooner.”  
“Caitlin doesn’t hunt with us!”  
“I didn’t wanna go alone.” Dean’s eyebrows shut up and Sam continued. “If you’d been willing to switch, you’d have nothing to complain about.”   
“You brought Caitlin with you just to spite me, because you didn’t get your favorite assignment? Since when are you this unprofessional?”

Caitlin didn’t hear Sam’s reply. It was crazy, because Sam and Dean were nothing like her stepbrothers. Yet something about the way they argued turned them into a picture superimposed on a scene from her childhood. 

_Cody had seen her with their father and Brad didn’t believe him and they had been fighting, voices raised and fists clenched, while she slowly inched her way backwards, ready to run. She had only made it halfway to the door, when Cody grabbed her and said “I’ll show you,” to his brother. He had pushed her to her knees, a hand fisted in her hair, the other one pulling out his dick. Brad’s eyes nearly fell out, but before Cody spilled into her mouth, he was standing next to his brother, jerking himself slowly, waiting for his turn. They hadn’t let her go for another hour and a half, and when dinner was late, their father had dragged her to her room for punishment, which of course meant more of the same._

Sam and Dean stopped arguing to look at her when she was almost at the door to the hallway. Caitlin couldn’t feel the tears running from her eyes as she ran to the bathroom and locked the door behind her. The tub was cold, but small, surrounding her almost everywhere as she curled into herself. It smelled a little of sewer, the way it does when a drain isn’t used regularly. She rested her forehead against the cold enamel, and let the waves of fear, hurt, hate and anger wash over her.


	33. Tears of a Clown

In Quantico, Penelope Garcia double checked the security footage from a 7-11 in Wichita, that had been flagged by facial recognition software. There was no doubt; the man staring almost directly into the camera was none other than Dean Winchester. She picked up the phone to call Hotchner.

XOXOX

The brothers watched in confusion as Caitlin disappeared into the bathroom.  
“I wonder what that was about,” Sam remarked, their argument already forgotten.  
“I guess something triggered her,” Dean said, pursing his lips. “Like the day she almost drowned herself, and how she got after that leviathan got to her.” They stood in awkward silence for a moment. “She must have really been through some serious shit,” Dean added. Sam gave a small chuckle.  
“It’s actually weird that stuff like that doesn’t happen to us.” He could have slapped himself at Dean’s _look_ of disbelief.  
“Right. Yeah.” Dean shook his head in disgust and Sam ducked his head a little, as he subconsciously rubbed his scarred hand.

After half an hour, Dean knocked softly at the bathroom door and called out to Caitlin. When no answer came, he sighed, picked the lock, and entered. She was lying in the tub, curled into fetal position, her eyes red rimmed and distant.  
“C’mon, we gotta stop meeting like this,” Dean murmured as he sat down on his haunches next to the tub. Slowly he reached out a hand to tuck wayward strands of her hair back behind her ears. She didn’t acknowledge his presence at all. “Well, fuck,” he said to himself and stood. Though Caitlin was a lithe woman, lifting her out of the tub was no easy feat; he was rewarded as he angled her through the door and she put her hands around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder.

Sam had volunteered to get pizza and when Dean brought Caitlin into their room, it smelled like melted cheese, pepperoni and bacon. Dean sank to the floor without letting go of Caitlin, wincing as his knees protested. He rubbed her back soothingly.  
“You hungry?” Ever so slowly, Caitlin nodded and extricated herself from his lap and went to sit beside him. She didn’t talk, as she juggled a large slice of pizza; Dean let her eat in peace.

“So,” he said when she had finished. “We should probably talk about this, huh?” Caitlin looked up and noticed Sam wasn’t there. “He’s gone to a café with wifi to do some research,” Dean answered the unasked question.  
Caitlin sighed deeply. “I’m not sure what to say.”  
“Well it would be nice to know what triggers these fits. Last time I had to carry you out of a building right under the nose of the real FBI.”  
Caitlin gasped, the look on her face hurt as if he had slapped her. “I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t be. It’s not really your fault, right? We just… we need to know more so we can help you better.”

“I never know what will send me back,” she began. “This time it was just the two of you arguing. I don’t even know why it got to me that way.” Dean ran his thumb across his lips, thinking.  
“Do you get any warning at all before it happens?” He looked at her expectantly.  
“Sometimes. Today I kinda noticed before I got lost in it.” She shrugged and kept her eyes on a spot on the floor.  
“Can you tip us off, if it happens again? If you notice, I mean.”  
“How? You want me to stop in the middle of being sucked into a memory and say ‘scuse me guys, I’m gonna time jump into my own personal hell now?’” She picked up a shoe from the floor (one of Dean’s dress shoes) and threw it across the floor. It hit the wall with a loud smack and ricocheted back towards them.

“You’re not the only one with some kind of hell lurking in the past,” Dean stated quietly, eyes on the shoe as if it might suddenly take flight on it’s own, now that it had become familiar with the concept. “We all deal in our own way. It’s just that your way is potentially dangerous.”  
Caitlin snorted angrily. “Says the guy who spawned a monster baby.”  
“Hey!” Hurt was evident in Dean’s voice and Caitlin went and got him a beer in silent apology.

“Our dad taught us a set of code words when we were kids,” Dean began after taking a long drink. Caitlin raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “You know, there was, uhm, ‘funky town.’ That means someone has a gun or some other weapon on you and you’re forced to act normal.” Dean smiled vaguely. “It’s been useful in the past.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah. And there’s ‘Poughkeepsie.’ Means drop everything and run. Or ‘McQueen’ if you need to break out of someplace.”  
“Break out?”  
“Mmh. You know, mental asylum, prison, police station’s holding cells. We’ve had to get out of those on occasion.”

The smile almost hurt at first but Caitlin couldn’t hold it back.  
“Dean, I’m gonna forget everything about becoming a doctor and start writing books instead.” Dean winced as if in physical pain. “Please don’t.”  
“Why not? No one will ever believe it’s real.”  
“No. People will idolize our lives and write disgusting fan fiction and hold conventions and get themselves killed by messing with shit they don’t understand.”  
“Whoa, easy there,” Caitlin laughed. “Conceited much?”  
“No, cynical.” Dean picked at the label on his beer, his face thunderous.

Anger seemed to radiate off of him in waves and Caitlin fidgeted with her own beer, until she inevitably had to break the strained silence.  
“So how about them Twilight books, huh?” Dean’s eyes narrowed for half a second before resting on her face. The crinkles around his eyes returned as his mouth quirked upwards in a soft smile.  
“That gonna be your code word?” Dean looked at her expectantly. Caitlin frowned, backtracking.  
“What, Twilight?”  
He nodded. She chewed her lower lip. Sometimes it was like entering the twilight zone. It was a word that could be used in a normal conversation with relative ease if others were present.  
“Yeah, why not.”

Dean put his arm around Caitlin’s shoulders and pulled her close to him. She rested her head against his side, a small smile playing at her lips. She felt Dean tense up slowly beside her, and the smile disappeared. Not done yet, apparently.  
“Caitlin,” he said tentatively. “You know that whatever happened to you… it wasn’t your fault, okay?” She pushed away from him, her fists clenched.  
“Don’t Good Will Hunt me. I know that, jerk.”  
“Okay, Jesus. Sorry.” 

He went to rummage in his duffel and placed a familiar book in front of her. The album with photos of her parents, the one thing she hadn’t been ready to leave behind in Seattle. Her wide eyes flitted between the album and Dean, her breath coming faster and faster. Dean gave her a worried look.  
“Remember to breathe,” he said softly. Caitlin found her voice.  
“Remember to bre… you fucking... you knew… you went through my things, you… you…” Dean waited for a stinging slap or a ringing fist to hit him, and then the door opened and closed with excessive force.  
“That went better than expected,” he muttered to himself, as he got up to follow her. The next vampicorntopus was probably lurking just around the corner.

He found her on the steps outside, breathing hard but not alarmingly shallow, and sat down beside her.  
“I found it when I broke in. I put it back when I heard you in the bathroom.” He glanced up at her, unable to read her expression, though her tears bore witness to her distress. “Caitlin, I never would have gone through your stuff after… you know… after you stopped being a case.”  
Caitlin met his eyes, her lips trembling from still crying hard.  
“I don’t even know what’s worst. That you knew all this time or that I didn’t get to tell you myself.”  
Dean’s eyes widened in surprise.  
“As if you would ever have told me,” he said with a wistful smile.

They sat in silence for a long time.  
“I was too young when my dad died to know any of the details,” Caitlin then began. “I just know he was killed in action.” She fiddled with her hands until Dean reached over to hold them in his own, stroking his thumbs lightly over her knuckles. “It broke my mom. I never heard her laugh after that. Not once. She only ever smiled at me, sad smiles that looked like she’d rather cry. She worked a lot and usually our next door neighbor would look after me.” Caitlin sighed deeply. “Mom was always so tired and I helped the best I could. Then she started seeing Saul. She never seemed that enthusiastic about it but when he proposed to her, she said yes.”  
“She wanted you to have a family?”

“Maybe. I guess. Saul had two sons, three and five years older than me.” Caitlin couldn’t stop a shiver running through her entire body. “For a few months we were like a hallmark card for homey bliss. Then mom started getting worse. There were doctors’ appointments and a cupboard with medications that took up more and more space. Her hair fell off and turned gray.” Caitlin was crying again now, tears for her mother’s suffering. Dean leaned against her wordlessly.

“I guess Saul didn’t exactly get what he bargained for. The honeymoon was barely over before his bride turned into a mere husk of the woman he had married. Maybe he really loved her and the grief drove him mad. I don’t know. He acted normal but he was simmering on the inside the whole time.” Caitlin closed her eyes. It had been a dark time, seven years old, attending first grade, still missing her dad and worried for her mother. The danger rolling off of her step dad continuously, though she couldn’t point out a single thing to cause the fear inside her. The jibes and quips and teasing from her ‘brothers.’ She had been crying every single time she had time to herself.

“Mom tried to keep the house, no matter how sick she got and I helped. Then, when she was gone, and the last meal left over from friends and neighbors had been eaten, Saul told me that dinner was my duty from then on.” His light gray, cold eyes had pierced right through the girl Caitlin had been. He hadn’t seen her sorrow and loneliness. He had seen a pair of hands that could work. And work she had.

“Hey guys. Why are you sitting out here?” Sam’s face fell as his brother gave him a ‘I could fucking kill you myself right now’-look. From the way he and Caitlin were sitting huddled together it wasn’t too hard to guess that he had interrupted something. He gave an apologetic shrug. “It’s late. We should be heading over to Plucky’s.”  
“What?” Dean obviously had no idea what Sam was talking about, while Caitlin perked up in recognition.  
“There’s a janitor there, wants to tell us something. He wouldn’t talk earlier when there were too many people around,” Sam told Dean. “He’s probably just a loony who sniffed the glue too often, but we should check.”  
“Alright,” Dean said. “We’ll go, all three of us.” Caitlin looked surprised at that, but was quick to get on her feet.

They were watching as a gurney left Plucky’s, bag containing a body strapped onto it.  
“So get this,” Sam said after a quick look around. “The cops think the ball washer did it.”  
“The what?” Dean asked, face completely straight.  
“The ball washer,” Sam repeated.  
“The what?” As Sam realized his mistake, Caitlin gave up holding back her laughter, and ran back a ways. They could hear peal after peal of laughter coming from her, as she rested her hands against a wall and leaned forward.  
“Is she okay?” Sam said, worried. Lucifer was telling him she was going crazy, how Sam’s mental state was obviously contagious and Dean would be next.  
Dean gave a small smile that didn’t look happy at all. “She’s as fine as you and me.”

The next day, they spent a few hours at a diner with outlets, getting everyone’s phones and Sam’s laptop juiced up. After that the brothers interrogated the employees at Plucky’s, Sam livestreaming to Caitlin back in the house. It wasn’t that they expected her to notice anything new, but it was probably better entertainment than reading old dusty books. After Sam went to protect a possible victim and Dean went to investigate the sub-basement at Plucky’s, Caitlin couldn’t sit still. She paced the length and width of the house over and over, getting closer to the front door with every pass, until she couldn’t stand the silence and the loneliness anymore.  
_‘I’ll just find a Starbucks and get some coffee,’_ she told herself. 

Before she could turn the doorknob, the brothers entered, Sam looking a lot worse for wear and exceptionally shiny. Dean was carrying a giant rainbow Slinky.  
“Caitlin, look,” he said gleefully. “Spoils of war.”  
Caitlin merely raised one eyebrow at him. “I guess we’d better squat somewhere with stairs next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not triggered by sexual abuse/child abuse I've just posted a new chapter in this verse in the 'Outtakes and Extras' story. It gives you a little more insight in what Caitlin is talking to Dean about when Sam interrupts them.


	34. Left Behind

“Mr. Mitchell? I’m just calling to inform you that one of the men suspected of kidnapping your step daughter has been seen in Wichita, Kansas.”

XOXOX

“I can’t believe you actually got beat up by a bunch of killer clowns.” Caitlin was laughing but she sounded sympathetic all the same. They were eating burgers and fries, sitting on the floor.  
“Yeah,” Sam smiled. “Not the best day of my life.” His phone started vibrating and then playing something Sam would never ever in a million years call music. He scrambled to answer it while Dean smirked in satisfaction.  
“Was that Pantera?” Caitlin was laughing so hard now that her stomach hurt.  
“Yup.” They stopped grinning as they heard Sam’s tone change.

“Yes, this is Agent Watts, what can I do for you?”  
Someone was speaking at the other end of the line, when Sam cut in.  
“We put a stop to that, it’s impossible.”  
After another pause, Sam looked stricken and slightly nauseated.   
“Fuck. Well, I guess we’ll be packing up for Coeur d’Alene.”  
After saying goodbye, Sam sighed deeply.

“That was Detective Sutton. They’ve had three murders exactly like the ones back when, you know...” He gave Dean a meaningful look.  
“Shit.” Dean felt like he’d swallowed a bag of ice. A couple of nights ago he had had that awful hell-dream, but this was worse. Coeur d’Alene was where he _had_ done some of those things to someone. They had been so desperate back then, it hadn’t even felt wrong. It had been so shortly after hell that it had felt _right_. Dean didn’t want to go back.

XOXOX

A few hours later, Caitlin waved goodbye to the brothers, hunched over in the doorway to a house with no power, no water, no heat. Half the blankets that made up the makeshift pallet she and Dean had shared were gone. She had a hundred dollars and no oxygen entering her lungs, or so it seemed. There was an ache so deep inside her bones it had to be buried in her soul. She had been alone for ten years and she had never minded; now she would be on her own for a week or two, and she wasn’t sure how to survive.

She sat in the room they had spent so much time in together, going over the case, eating and teasing each other good naturedly. Most of the books were gone, couldn’t be left behind when they might be useful for the new case. Occasionally, a car would drive by but other than that all she had was silence.

“No, you absolutely cannot come with us,” Dean had said. “It’s too close to Seattle, and if this case is what it seems, you’d be a target with a capital T.” There was a glimmering sheen over his eyes and his jaw twitched as he spoke. She couldn’t make herself argue when he looked like that. Whatever was happening between them would have to wait until this ‘job’ was done. Oh the irony of _not_ having a paying job and still not be able to take a day or two off now and again.

The black windows stared at her blindly, the air was solid around her, impossible to to breathe. She had been alone for hours, time had lost its meaning. She had watched a small spider crawl the entire length of the large once-upon-a-time living room; she had practiced forwards, backwards and sideways rolls, done sit-ups and push-ups, squats and jumping jacks until her muscles burned. She was done sitting, standing and walking around this empty house alone.

She opened the door to reveal a darkening night sky and unlimited air, clear and sweet.

Running, she reached the ‘wifi-diner’ in ten minutes. She jacked up her phone and ordered a chicken salad. While waiting for her order, she noticed a tall and slender man with short shaved hair entering, smooth skin indistinguishable from the mocha latte in her cup. His eyes went to hers and widened almost imperceptibly, before continuing to scan the room. Caitlin grabbed her phone, ready to run as soon as he turned his back. He didn’t. He went directly to her booth and sat down opposite her.  
“I’m a friend of the Winchesters,” he said before she could say or do anything.  
“Christo,” Caitlin said. Nothing remarkable happened. The man smirked.  
“I’m Derek Morgan. Senior supervisory special agent with the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI. I’m not possessed, I’ll let you cut me with silver if that helps, and I’m not going to take you in, so please wait while I redirect my team to eat their dinner somewhere else. DON’T LEAVE.”

Caitlin blinked, stunned, as Derek pulled a phone out and made a call.  
“Prentiss, hey. Listen that diner we’re meeting in? I swear to God the biggest rat I’ve ever seen just ran across the floor behind the counter.   
…  
No kidding. I don’t think it’s cooking Ratatouille, so why don’t you guys find somewhere else. I’ll just alert the FDA.  
…   
Yeah, great. See you later.”   
He put away his phone and gave her reassuring smile.

“So, Caitlin. It is Caitlin, not Sarah, right?” She nodded, speechless. “Where are you hiding Itchy and Scratchy?” She closed her mouth tightly, tensing up. “They need to know the FBI is here looking for them,” Derek said. “I’m the only one who knows the truth.” Caitlin exhaled slowly.  
“They’re not here anymore.” She looked out the window longingly and missed the double-take Derek made.  
“What? They left you here?”  
“They had to. Case came up that was too dangerous.”  
“Will they be back?”  
Caitlin shrugged at that. Caught as she was for now, she’d act as if she believed the man but she didn’t trust him.

“Well, you can’t stay in Wichita when the team is looking for you. It’s too risky.” Derek’s words were soft, but their meaning hurt. Caitlin imagined packing up her meager belongings and spending her last money on a Greyhound ticket. Starting over in another town, all the way from scratch. Tears burned behind her eyelids and she cleared her throat angrily. Derek spoke again.  
“We profiled you back in Seattle, so I know you don’t trust me. But I’ll help, if you let me.”  
Her eyebrows rose in disbelief, and he sighed.   
“Later tonight, I’ll get you away from here, find you somewhere safe to stay for now.”

Caitlin simply stared at Derek, until her brain came online again. _‘compiling, compiling, input does not compute.’_ She shook her head to clear it and grabbed her phone. Dean answered on the third ring.  
“Hey Caitie, everything okay?”  
“Do you guys know an FBI agent named Derek Morgan?”  
Through the phone, she heard Dean laugh the way he rarely did.  
“Yeah, we do. Why?”  
“Because he’s in town with his team and he wants to help me get out of here and further away from them.”  
“Lemme talk to him.”  
Wordlessly, Caitlin handed the phone to Derek.

“Hey Dean. What were those things looking like you and Sam?”  
…  
“If I tell you they disappeared from the morgue…”  
“ _Crap,_ ” came the tinny outburst from the speaker and Caitlin hid a smile. Dean continued to talk some more.  
“Yeah, well it is procedure to assemble body parts, resembling the way they were originally when processing them.”  
…  
“No, I’m definitely keeping my mouth shut. The guys’ theories about the infamous Winchester brothers and how they keep faking their own deaths are getting ridiculously entertaining, though.”  
“ _Not faking anything,_ ” Caitlin heard faintly.  
“Maybe you should start,” Derek said, grinning. “It’s gotta be better than the real thing.” When no reply came, Derek frowned. “Dean?”  
“ _Yeah._ ”  
“So how about I get your girl set up somewhere outside of town later?”  
…  
“Great. I’m sure we’ll be running into each other again. Say hello to Sam for me. Bye.”

Caitlin got her phone back and put it against her ear.  
“Dean?”  
“Yeah, go with Derek. You can trust him. Don’t expect him to be of any use against anything supernatural, but he’s a good guy.” She could hear the laughter in Dean’s voice as if he was remembering something funny. _‘Memo to me; ask Derek about that later.’_  
“Okay. Say hi to Sam from me too. Bye. And Dean… Take care.”  
“Always, Caitie. See you soon.”

Derek told her to meet him later at the diner and left to have dinner with his team. Caitlin walked quickly back to the house, packed her belongings and did her best to erase any trace of their stay. Then she dragged her duffle back to the diner and ordered coffee. While she waited, Dean texted her to say that they were back at their hideout for the night, safe and sound. An hour later, Sam texted her that Dean was tossing and turning so much he couldn’t sleep, and missed her being there to keep his idiot big brother calm. She spent the rest of the wait writing back and forth with Sam, hopefully distracting him from whatever horrors really prevented him from sleeping.

When Derek showed up, he ushered her into a rental car.  
“Believe it or not,” he said with a chuckle, “after my third run-in with the Winchesters, I took a page out of their book and made myself a set of fake ID. No one will ever know we were near each other.”  
Caitlin nodded. The radio blared out some generic pop song, not Zeppelin or Bob Seger. Derek was a stranger sitting too close and the car smelled plain wrong. No gunpowder and leather, not the orangey smell of Sam’s shampoo. Her hands gripped her thighs hard enough to hurt, as she focused on breathing steadily. 

Derek watched how tense Caitlin was, how it was getting worse.   
“So do you want to hear about how I know the Winchesters?” Things would be better if he could distract her, and even though he still felt embarrassed about it, those stories would hopefully make her laugh. She glanced at him before going back to staring out the windshield.   
“Sure.” 

The foolishness of it all did make her laugh, and they spent some time driving in comfortable silence.  
“I don’t really want to bother you with this, but I feel like it would be unwise not to tell you,” Derek suddenly said. Caitlin felt cold fingers squeeze around her heart, somehow knowing what was coming before the words were spoken.  
“Your step dad and brothers are looking for you. That’s how the FBI found out your real name.” He slowed down the car to really look at her. “I promise they won’t find you. I told them myself they wouldn’t get access to any information about the case, okay?”

Caitlin stared at him, her expression frozen in panic.  
“Why not?”   
“Because… Caitlin, what we do? We’ve seen stories like yours too often to not recognize it. Even if we can’t prove it, we know they mistreated you. Since you’re an adult and haven’t had any contact with them since you disappeared, we’re not obligated to tell them anything.”  
She drew a deep breath.  
“Thank god.”

Derek pulled off the highway and drove through the darkness.  
“It’s not my place to say this, but have you ever considered therapy?”  
“What?!” Caitlin’s response was shrill, incredulous.  
“Hey, I saw that guy who called himself your dad. It must have been hell for you back then. The man was a grade A asshole abuser if I ever saw one.” Derek paused, mentally bracing himself. “And I did see one.”

Caitlin’s eyes widened as they traveled up and down his toned body and her mouth fell open. Derek couldn’t suppress a smile. “I wasn’t always this tall and handsome,” he joked. “But that’s beside the point. There will always be someone fast, strong, devious or just lucky enough to get the jump on you. Afterwards, we have to deal with the shame and guilt. Why we couldn’t stop it, why it happened to us and not someone else, how we can ever trust anyone again…” He regarded her, watched her process his words and nod slowly. “That’s what therapy is for.”

Caitlin couldn’t help a snort. “We do take psychology lessons in med school, you know.”  
“You think that’s good enough? Reading about it?” Derek hit the turn signal and parked in front of an old motel that hadn’t been renovated in decades. From the heaps of trash and debris around the parking lot, it probably hadn’t been cleaned in decades either.  
“What difference does it make? Reading about it, or having someone telling me about it, it’s all the same right?”  
“Therapy isn’t someone quoting psychology textbooks at you,” he grinned. “It’s someone trained to help you heal the scars that knowing the theory will never erase.”  
“Right. Someone digging into a past I’d rather forget. I think I’ll pass.”

“But you haven’t forgotten, have you?” Derek pulled the handbrake and unfastened his seatbelt, and leaned slightly towards her. Caitlin automatically drew further away while unfastening her own seatbelt. “Let me guess,” he continued, watching her intently. “You have nightmares and flashbacks as well as more controlled memories. I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but everything about you screams raging PTSD.”  
“I’m fine.” She opened the door and climbed out quickly.


	35. Demons of the Past

“Dad why are we staying so far away from the city?”  
“Because, Brad, with what we’re planning to do when we find Sarah, it’s better if no one knows we were ever in Wichita.” Saul shook his head in disgust at his younger son’s stupidity.  
“But there’s nothing to do here. Look, a parking lot and a Gas N Sip. Me’n Brad are gonna die of boredom before we find her,” Cody interjected. As they looked out the window to behold the boring parking lot, a blonde walked by. He whistled. “Maybe it’s not so bad here after all.”  
Saul recognized the FBI-agent trailing after the strangely familiar blond figure and narrowed his eyes.  
“You know what sons. I think here is absolutely perfect.”

XOXOX

Jeffrey finished listing his injuries after their last encounter, quoting the doctor telling him ‘he looked like he’d had a run-in with the spanish inquisition.’ Dean kept his face carefully blank, while the words echoed inside him. Hopefully, Jeffrey had no idea how much it had cost Dean to restrain himself, to make sure the little guy would survive the ordeal back then. No idea how the flowing blood and sound of breaking bones, the screaming, had made Dean feel alive. It had been simple, easy, to do what he and Sam thought was necessary back then. Not like trying to break his ‘mentor’ had felt a couple of months before that. Now Dean was forced to face what his actions had cost Jeffrey in the aftermath of the possession, and he felt like a monster.

Before leaving with Jeffrey to find the demon, he found himself calling Caitlin. He just wanted to check up on her and if her voice happened to slow his heart rate and relax his muscles, that had nothing to do with anything.  
“Hey Caitlin. Where’d you end up?” His voice sounded rougher than usual.  
“Some dump an hour northeast of Wichita. Dean, are you okay?” She was starting to know him too well.  
“Yeah. Yes. Peachy. Going to follow a lead now, talk to you later. Take care, Caitie.” He hung up before she could answer ‘you too’ or ask him what was going on.  
Caitlin was left staring at the phone, alone in a large, one-bed motel room, musty smelling and badly lit; probably hiding years of grime in the dusky corners.  
“You _better_ talk to me later,” she muttered and sighed as the TV merely sputtered indignantly and died when she pressed on.

XOXOX

Caitlin regained her senses slowly. Her left temple throbbed in time with her pulse and she felt sticky liquid oozing over her face. She moved her left hand to wipe at it and found that she was hogtied. A loud rumbling noise began and everything came back to her.

She had been in the room, lying on top of the covers (only God knew what might hide under them), waiting to hear from Dean or Sam again. There had been a knock on the door that she had pointedly ignored; probably not the desk clerk apologizing for the cleaner being a decade or so late. Then the door had burst inwards with a resounding thud, and the men she had sworn never to lay eyes upon again advanced on her. Heart pounding, she had scrambled to stand behind the bed, eyes casting around desperately for a weapon. She snagged the nightstand, tilting it horizontal, ready to block an attacker. When Saul dove for her, the wire caught in the outlet before she could block him, and he hit her head hard with the butt of a knife.

She was tied up in the trunk of a car and it was Saul driving it. They were taking her _home_.

XOXOX

“Screw consciousness, that’s what I say.” Dean was already half asleep, still dressed and lying on the floor with just a bag for a pillow.  
“Shouldn’t you call Caitlin first, let her know we’ll be seeing her in a day’s time?” Sam kept his eyes straight at his brother, ignoring Lucifer’s smug suggestions that Dean was hurt and hadn’t told Sam about it; that he was fading, dying.  
“You call her,” Dean said without opening his eyes. As memories of fire rose around Sam, he figured he probably should call Caitlin, but when he tried she didn’t answer. Lucifer suggested he try from Dean’s cell, and since Sam had nothing left to lose, he did. Still no answer. The cold flames of the Morningstar enveloped him entirely.

Dean woke with aching and creaking joints but feeling rested. He spent a few minutes contemplating Sam’s yoga pose, trying to figure out what was going on.  
“Sam, man, what are you doing?” Sam’s form continued to sit unmoving, his eyes staring vacantly into nothing. Dean put a hand on his shoulder. “Sammy?”  
Sam startled a little, his eyes met Dean’s and Dean’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t seen Sam so out of it since the night he almost offed himself.  
“I think I’m in trouble,” Sam said and Dean felt his chest constrict.

Caitlin’s phone went straight to voicemail when they called her to find out where to pick her up. Sam traced it to the Viking Motel, Lindsborg, while Lucifer danced and sang happily around him. They cut five hours from the twenty hour drive, Dean cursing up a storm missing his Baby, calling Caitlin every thirty minutes. Sam even used a burner to call Derek Morgan who confirmed that he’d left Caitlin in Lindsborg, set up for a week. All he could provide was a room number.

They couldn’t get into the room when they finally arrived. Worried, Derek had checked in with the motel to learn about the thrashed door to Caitlin’s room. After promising Garcia the moon and the stars, she checked the security cameras of the motel, no questions asked. The girl was a genius; erasing Derek from the footage. What she was going to make him do to make up for that, or what questions she would want answered, he’d worry about another day. Caitlin was now, once again, a case for the BAU and this time, the Mitchells were their primary suspects.

Dean pulled at his hair in desperation when he saw the crime scene tape covering the empty door frame. Sam didn’t know what to do either. He was exhausted, no sleep for more than two days and every time he nodded off, Lucifer woke him the hell up. Hell being the key word. Now, Lucifer was pointing towards the office. Sam slapped his hand on Dean’s shoulder and pulled him in that direction, pointedly ignoring Lucifer’s smug expression.

The clerk looked up in surprise when they entered and then scrambled for something under the desk. Wordlessly he held out an unsigned envelope. Sam took it and they went back to sit in their car of the week, while he opened it. The message was from Derek, giving them all the so far known details, including the Mitchell family’s last known address in Arkansas.  
“Police has already been to the farm; there’s nothing there. We’re flying out tonight to look for clues in the area. I know you’ll look too. I should hope we find them first but I don’t care. I just hope Caitlin will be found fast. - DM”

“We need to call Frank,” Sam said. Dean agreed. Dick Roman could wait.

XOXOX

Time didn’t exist. Caitlin’s wrists and ankles hurt, as did her fingers and feet; blood circulation wasn’t cut off but it wasn’t good either. She was on her side but it would still suck to lie here next to a pool of vomit. Nevertheless, motion sickness and the probable concussion made it difficult to keep her stomach contents down. At some point she noticed light spilling through the cracks around the hatch. They had been driving all night and now it was day; they weren’t going home after all.

At some point the pressure on her bladder became too much and she had to let go. The smell didn’t help with her nausea and it didn’t take long for her to start shivering with cold. Had the brothers discovered she was missing yet? Or had something happened to them after her short conversation with Dean? He had sounded so out of it. Maybe no one was coming for her. The car stopped and though her throat was parched by now, she yelled for help. Well, croaked for help. Whispered for help. 

The hatch opened and three smug faces looked at her.  
“Oh my god, she peed her pants,” Cody grinned. “That’s disgusting, Sarah.”  
“I just thought you’d be thirsty, Sweetheart,” Saul said and held a bottle of water to her lips. He let her drink until it was empty. Then the hatch was closed and soon the engine rumbled back to life. Caitlin wasn’t worried about what would happen later anymore. She was too busy reliving the past.


	36. Chasing the Wind

Frank’s wife and daughters might be dead but he was an imaginative guy. It came with being paranoid, which he was, if you’re still paranoid when someone’s really after you. He understood the change of priorities. He called back after only three hours.  
“It’s me.”  
“Frank, please tell us you’ve got something.”  
“You can start heading east.”  
“That’s all?”  
“Yes that’s all. It’s more than the FBI tech genius has and she’s actually pretty good. Looking pretty much the same places as me.”

Sam wasn’t fit to drive. Seeing things not there? Not really a reassuring feature in your designated driver. Thus, after almost 30 hours, they had to pull over so Dean could sleep. _’As if.’_ But if you’re tired enough, apparently sleep will take you. 

When the old nightmare of Alastair once again turned into violent, forceful sex with Caitlin, Dean couldn’t keep all the coffee, energy drinks and sugary snacks he’d been going on down. Those things could be happening to her right now; probably was. Yet here he was, waking up with a boner. Someone should just shoot him now. As long as they made sure to save Caitlin.

No one showed up with a .45 so Dean got behind the wheel again, ignoring Sam’s attempts at getting him to rehydrate and -carbohydrate instead of telling him loudly and vehemently to shut the fuckity fucking fuck up. Sam was all kinds of miserable partying with Lucifer already, no need to make things worse on him.

Frank didn’t answer until the fourth time they called him.  
“You wanna chat or you want answers,” he spat into the phone when he finally accepted the call.  
“We’re in Louisville, Kentucky. Just wondering if we’re going further east or maybe veering off?”  
“Last sighting of their pile of rust was Knoxville, they took I40. That was seventeen hours ago. I’m sorry but if they switched cars I’m out of luck until they use a credit card.”  
Frank sounded more genuinely sorry than he had ever done during their hunt for Dick Roman.

XOXOX

At some point, Caitlin threw up. It wasn’t so much the car’s movements or even the water sloshing in her stomach. It was the twilight in her mind, the echoes of Saul teaching her to ignore her gag reflex. When she returned to reality, the smell was almost the same as when she had cleaned up after herself (and him) back then. She wriggled herself as far from the disgusting puddle as she could.

The restraints were tight, the trunk was too dark to see properly. Caitlin kept squirming in the confined space, flexing her fingers, hoping to grasp onto something, anything, that might be useful. Even after covering everything once, she kept going. Staying occupied was staying in the present, and suck as that might, it was still better than disappearing into another flashback. Chances were if that happened now, she wouldn’t even notice the difference when she woke back up.

She tested how much she could move, and found it wasn’t enough to make any attempts at fighting and running when the trunk was opened. If she didn’t know the true meaning of ‘being well and truly fucked’ the expression would have applied. As it was, it definitely would later. She’d have to bide her time and wait for an opportunity. It would come, as it had done before. Something wet touched her cheek and she startled. It was just tears though. This time.

XOXOX

“Come on Frank, you gotta have something else by now!”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“Dean, Dean! Your knuckles will hurt more than the dashboard.”  
“Sammy…”  
“Let’s call Morgan, see if there’s any news on his end.”  
“What did he say?”  
“Stop calling, can’t talk. No news.” Sam relayed the text message, face solemn. “Dean we have to stop again. We have no idea where to go from here and you need to sleep.”

XOXOX

They pulled Caitlin out of the trunk and ignored her cries of pain when her bound limbs were jostled. She was dropped unceremoniously on the ground and hosed down with water cold enough to sting. Dizzily, she tried to breathe through it, hitching as her body began to tremble from exhaustion and cold. The surroundings were unfamiliar, this wasn’t the old farm. There were no landmarks to help her figure out where she’d been taken. When she was lifted up again in a fireman's carry (awkward because of the way she was tied) she didn’t make a sound, though the pain forced tears in her eyes.

She was left in a small dark room, only slightly larger than a closet. Besides herself, it was completely empty, no other doors, no windows. The walls and the floor were bare concrete, rough surfaces with no gaps. A key turned in the lock and she was left alone to catalogue her woes. In her still wet clothes, the temperature was the worst problem. It was normal, as far as indoor temperatures go, but to her, wet and immobilized, the air felt freezing. She couldn’t stop shivering and rattling her teeth. 

Her eyes were closed and she had started feeling almost numb when the key turned again and she startled awake. All she could do was lie there and watch the door swing open to reveal who was behind it and what they wanted. _‘Nothing good, for sure.’_ Saul stepped inside, carrying a glass of water and a plate with french fries.  
“I figured you’d be hungry, Sweetheart,” he murmured and kneeled beside her. He reached out to stroke her cheek and withdrew quickly. “Sarah, you’re ice cold. Sorry. Hold on a second.” He left her there, left the glass and the plate, left the door open. Caitlin stared at the enticing dark rectangle and sobbed. She began worming her way towards it. 

Thirty six inches. That was how far she got, before Saul returned with a thick blanket and a pair of scissors. 

“Let’s get you out of those wet clothes and warm again, Sweetheart,” he said and sounded infuriatingly caring and sincere. Caitlin didn’t respond at all, closed her eyes and focused on breathing steadily, while the hard steel from the scissors glided over her body accompanied by the rhythmic ‘snip snip’ as her clothes were cut. Saul’s hands took their time gliding over her, separating the cloth from her clammy skin.  
“I missed you so much. I can’t believe you’re really here. Ten years. I waited ten years, not knowing, in the dark, thinking… thinking I’d lost you both.”

He cupped a breast, his eyes dark and needy, and Caitlin resigned herself to the inevitable. Just then, Brad showed up in the doorway.  
“Shouldn’t she eat first, Dad?” His tone was meek, subdued and he was looking at the floor, rather than at his father groping his naked step sister on the floor. Saul’s eyes flashed with anger, but he moved away from Caitlin.  
“Help me get her to sit up,” Saul grumbled and Brad hurriedly obeyed. Brad left quietly afterwards and Saul fed Caitlin. Too weak to do anything that wouldn’t just make things worse, she refrained from biting his fingers.

The last fry disappeared into Caitlin’s mouth and Saul watched her chew with rapt attention.  
Then Brad’s voice sounded from somewhere far off. “Dad! Delivery guy’s here, needs your signature!”  
Saul thumped his fist hard into the floor next to Caitlin before getting up and leaving, taking glass and plate with him and this time locking the door behind him.

XOXOX

“Sam, you look really tired.”  
“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”  
“Any news?”  
“You don’t think I woulda told you?”

XOXOX

Caitlin’s eyes had drifted closed again when Saul entered, holding a package.  
“I’m never losing you again. And you’re no use to anyone tied up like that.” He opened the box and pulled out a metal collar. Saul barely skimmed the instructions before placing the thing around her neck and the lock closed with an ominous click.  
“If you try to touch the lock you’ll get zapped. If you misbehave, you’ll get zapped. Understood?”  
“What’s the amperage on this thing?” She’d get zapped sooner or later, so she might as well know if her idiot stepfather would inadvertently kill her when it happened. Saul scowled at her.  
“I asked you if you understood the rules.”  
“And what I want to know is whether I’m gonna die if I break them or just experience excruciating pain. What’s the amperage?”

Saul’s fist clenched and unclenched several times. “You grew quite a mouth on you while you were gone.” His eyes searched the instructions while he spoke, voice low and angry. “It says 4.5 milliamp. Now tell me, do you understand the rules?”  
“Yes.”  
“Good. And add mouthing off to that list.”  
Caitlin didn’t say anything and watched Saul’s eyes narrow.  
“What was that?”  
“No mouthing off. Understood.”  
“Good girl. Now let’s get you untied, you gotta be hurtin’ by now.”  
“Yes.” Tears threatened behind Caitlin’s eyelids at the sound of her meek voice when she answered. The sound of that little girl, forever inside her; that helpless, vulnerable doll she could never get away from.

XOXOX

“Frank’s not answering. It’s been four hours.”  
“He’s taken a week getting back to us before.”  
“But not now, not after Caitlin was taken.”  
“You’re right. Guess we’re going to Indiana.”

“Who was that?”  
“That… was Derek Morgan.”  
“Yeah, what did he say? They found something?”  
“No, they’re… they’re calling off the search for now. Some serial killer out west going on a spree.”  
“So they just gave up on Caitlin?!”  
“They figured saving lives were more important; they don’t think her life is in danger.”  
...  
“Dean, stop punching the car. You gotta calm down, man.”  
“You calm down. I’ll calm down when I hear your obnoxious snoring again.”


	37. Clock Ticking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOPS! I made a mistake in the last chapter. I forgot that the boys weren't driving the Impala because they're being sneaky. I've edited the dialogue so it no longer refers to Baby.

Caitlin flexed her fingers and toes, breathing deeply through the stinging, burning pain after being immobilized for so long. Saul left her alone, the door locked behind him. _‘Idiot.’_ When he came back, she’d be strong enough to fight him. Even if all that would get her was a shock, at least she’d be halfway unconscious through whatever followed.

She left the blanket where it was and warmed herself through physical activity. She was still hungry, still thirsty but she had enough strength to perform the calming katas she had practiced every day for years. Another need was becoming pressing, though. She knocked at the door.   
“Hey! I need to use the bathroom.” She knocked again and added, cringing inside, “please!”

There were footsteps outside and the key turned in the lock. Outside stood Brad, glancing furtively to either side before beckoning her to follow.  
“Bathroom’s this way,” he said quietly and turned his back at her. Somehow Caitlin couldn’t bring herself to take him down. _‘After my eyes stop watering.’_ She nodded her thanks as he held the bathroom door open for her and stayed outside. 

While taking care of business she scanned the room for anything useful. Something heavy, something sharp, something pointy and small to pick locks. The room was bare. No mirror, no shelves or cabinets, not even a toilet roll holder to take apart. She tore at the bolts holding the toilet seat to no avail. Then there were footsteps outside and the door banged open, revealing Saul.  
“You’re done. Get back to your room.” He gave his youngest son a scathing look before grabbing Caitlin’s right wrist in an iron grip and dragging her with him.

Unthinkingly, Caitlin grabbed the doorway with her other hand and twisted her wrist free of Saul’s grip. When he spun to grab her again, she punched his nose hard enough to make him stagger backwards. She followed up with a kick to his chest that landed him on his back, panting and wheezing. Brad was nowhere to be seen so Caitlin dashed down the hallway, hopefully towards an exit. No one stood in her way as she opened doors, ran through rooms and finally, finally, was greeted by cool air. She ignored the stabs of pain in her feet as she ran down a gravel driveway. 

Mid step, all her muscles locked up. She toppled over to lie twitching in the grass. Every single nerve inside her body screamed out in agony. She couldn’t even draw in air enough to scream. Darkness overtook her.

She woke up to Cody tying her legs together, her hands already bound.   
"Oh Sarah. you didn't think we would be that careless, did you?"  
Caitlin only managed an agonized moan as he lifted her over his shoulder and carried her back inside. She was dumped in the small room and left alone, locked in and bound tightly, her entire body aching after being shocked. 

Last year at the hospital, she had treated a middle aged man from Chechnya, had watched the MRIs of his heart. Had seen the scarring on the blood-pumping muscle, still affecting its functions a decade after the man was tortured with repeated electroshocks.   
“How are you, Mr. Zakaev?” She had asked the routine question barely looking up from the fascinating record in her hand.  
“I’m okay, thank you. It’s just that it’s getting worse in the morning.” He spoke softly, his accent mostly consisting of a hypnotic rolling of the Rs.   
“I’m sorry, what is?”  
“The fluid in my lungs. I… I worry about drowning.” The small man’s eyes were wide, as his voice broke and trailed off. 

A couple of months later, Caitlin, her fellow students and several doctors had sat in when an autopsy was performed on Mr. Zakaev. His heart and lungs had been removed from his body and she had run a gloved finger over the damaged tissue that had caused his untimely death.*

XOXOX

“Sam? Sammy? You with me?”  
“Sorry. Yeah. I’m here.”  
“What’s going on with you, man?”  
“Nothing, I’m fine. Just tired.”  
“Why don’t you sleep then?”  
“I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, Lucifer makes a racket.”  
“You do know that he’s not really here, right?”  
“Yeah, tell that to the volume control inside my head.”

XOXOX

“So, Sweetheart,” Saul drawled as he entered the small room, carrying a metal bucket. “How did that work out for you?” Caitlin glanced up at him and fought a smirk at the sight of his red and swollen nose and the darkening bruises under his eyes. _‘Zakaev,’_ she chanted silently and kept her face impassive.

“So now you’re giving me the silent treatment?” Saul put the bucket in a corner and bent down to whisper his next words in her ear, his figure looming over her, shrinking her until she was ten years old again. “You’re mine.” His lips curved upwards in a wicked grin, as he stood back up. “Aren’t you going to curse and yell at me again? You gonna hit me some more? Think you can take me?”

“Please,” Caitlin said, voice scratchy and broken. “Do you really think this is what Mom, what Lillian would have wante…” She gasped as Saul’s boot connected with her side. _‘At least he didn’t crack any ribs.’_  
“Don’t talk about her. Never. She left, she died, she didn’t fight hard enough. You both _left!_ ” Saul’s expression was crazed and spit flew from his lips as he yelled. 

Caitlin scrabbled for purchase on the concrete floor, just to get a few more inches away from him. “You made me into _her_. You made me into a grown woman when I was just a little girl. Of course I left when I had the chance!”

“Oh that’s rich. Like you weren’t a little cockslut anyway. Don’t tell me you haven’t been turning tricks to get by all this time.”

“I was in med school! I was going to be a doctor! I was going to make sure that no one else had to go through what I did!” She screamed the words at him, desperate and angry. A stunned look appeared at his face and she continued quietly: “What _you_ went through.”

XOXOX

“Frank? Frank? We’re coming in! … Oh crap! Sam, I think I’ve got Frank on my boots.”  
“Oh god. That’s a lot of blood. You think the leviathans…?”  
“No, the tooth fairy, Sammy.”  
“Hey, Dean, we should search the place. I mean they’re sure to have taken everything Frank found out about them, but maybe…”

XOXOX

Saul left the room after their argument. If it could be called an argument, considering that one participant was tied up and could be rendered unconscious at the push of a button. Caitlin closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. With any luck, she might be able to sleep a little, despite how uncomfortable she was.

She woke with a start that made her hands and ankles sting under the ropes. The door had opened and closed almost noiselessly and there was no light. A figure bent down over her, and she fought the urge to scream.  
“Sssh,” she heard and then a pair of hands were undoing the knots keeping her immobile. 

“I’m sorry, Sarah. This isn’t right,” Brad murmured.  
“Are you helping me leave?” It came out like a challenge, though she spoke the words softly in the darkness.  
His hands stilled for a moment. “I can’t,” he whispered.  
“Brad, please…”  
“I can’t. I don’t have the key to your collar and I can’t disarm the perimeter signal. And I can’t…” He trailed off into a soft sob. The last knot was undone and he sat down against the wall farthest from Caitlin.

This timid young man was nothing like the teenager that had taken her with force almost every day for years. Back then, Cody had always been there too, but his absence alone didn’t explain the change in Brad. She heard his breath hitching as he cried silently. 

“Brad,” she finally said. “We could both go. Steal a car, drive past the perimeter… It’ll hurt but I’ll wake up again.”  
“No.” He stood up quickly and left before she could ask him why. 

Caitlin sighed and resigned herself to the humiliation of using the bucket instead of being escorted to the bathroom.

XOXOX

Dean woke up, woozy after sleeping too long, soldiering through nightmare upon nightmare without waking. One second he was sleepily rubbing his eyes, the next he was standing, the gun from under his pillow ready in his hands. It wasn’t a foreign noise that had his heart hammering in his chest. It was the lack of a distinct set of well known noises. Sam wasn’t there.

Dean’s phone blared out the familiar riff of Smoke On The Water. Exhaling slowly, ready to rip Sam a new one, he answered without looking at the screen.  
“Hey Jerkface, where are you?”  
“Is this Dean Smith?” The unknown voice sounded confused and unsure. And just like that Dean’s heart was back on overtime, his lungs too empty for him to make a sound. “Hello?”  
Dean held onto the back of a chair with his free hand, his knuckles white and upper body hunched over. “Yeah.”  
“I’m calling from Indiana State Hospital. Your brother has been in an accident.”

Sam had been there with him when he fell asleep. Frank didn’t just have a lead on Caitlin, he had a fucking address; and, miracle of miracles, the bigmouths hadn’t touched it. The plan had been four hours of sleep for Dean and then they’d be going to Lake Jones, North Carolina. Now it was six hours later, and Sam was gone, was in the hospital. 

“Sir, sir you can’t go in there!”   
Dean’s hand twitched with the urge to shove the nurse away as he simply kept walking right through her space.   
“You need to schedule an appointment!”  
“Then schedule one,” he told her, not taking his eyes of the white coated doctor behind the desk. “Why can’t I see my brother?”

Somewhere, hopefully in a cabin near Jones Lake, the strongest, bravest, kindest person alive - maybe next to his little brother - was living through her worst nightmare. Right in front of him was Sam, clad in white hospital clothes. His eyes were circled with darkness making him look hollow and his voice was weary, weak. Dean had to listen to that worn voice, explaining that Sam was dying from something so stupidly simple as sleep deprivation. His little brother was dying.

“How long, Sam?”  
“Three, four days at most.” Sam’s expression barely changed; harried and tired became harried, tired and apologetic.   
Dean’s eyes stung; his throat full of things he wanted to say but couldn’t find words to express.  
“I’ll find something. You’ll be fine,” was what he eventually got out.  
“Dean… don’t. There’s nothing. We both know that.” Sam looked at him with those earnest kaleidoscopic eyes, pleading him. “Find Caitlin. This…” Sam gestured around the room, his hands shaking a little as he pointed towards Lucifer eating popcorn, “this is nothing compared to what she must be going through. And this time… this time I’ll be going upstairs, right? You know we’ll see each other again someday.”

Dean couldn’t hold back his tears at that. Sam followed suit, finally letting go of the calm that had surrounded him the whole time. They hugged tightly and sniffled against each other’s cheeks.   
“You better be waiting with beer and pie, Sammy.” Dean reluctantly pulled away. “And I know there’s gotta be Zeppelin for me, better not mess with that, got it?” Though his voice was shaky, he managed to sound the way he used to before leaving with Dad for a hunt. It made Sam laugh surprisingly loud.  
“I got it. But don’t come too soon. Take care, Dean. Say hi to Caitie for me.”  
“Aight,” Dean whispered, before squeezing Sam’s hand and leaving the room. The second Sam couldn’t see him anymore, he let the tears fall freely again.


	38. Impossible Race

Dean drove through the night, willing his foot to press the accelerator harder every time his death grip on the wheel faltered. Behind him, Sam was alone. Dean was alone in a stupid Ford T and they were running out of time. What was he doing driving away from Sam? What was Sam doing in the hospital? They wouldn’t be able to help him anyway. Dying or not, Sammy should be sitting next to him, part of this rescue mission. Then that stupid voice echoed in his head again, tinny and far away, laced with fake sympathy. _‘Your brother has been in an accident.’_ Fuck. Fuck it all to hell.

XOXOX

The door swung open so quickly it banged against the wall. Caitlin woke with a small scream and fought to squeeze some air back into her lungs. Everything hurt after long hours on the concrete floor and her muscles were still sore after the current running through her body and being tied up the day before.

Cody entered with a sneer. “Rise and shine, Sarah.” He paused to snicker. “Sorry, forgot, you’re not going anywhere, right, Sweetheart?”  
Ignoring her body’s internal scream of protest, Caitlin rolled to her feet quickly. Cody took a step backwards and raised the remote for the collar in front of him. 

_‘Zakaev.’_ Caitlin hurriedly backed up a few steps and hid her satisfaction at his wide-eyed look of surprise and apprehension. Cody took his eyes off her long enough to register the untied ropes on the floor. “How did you get out of those?”  
Caitlin didn’t answer until he took a threatening step towards her, fondling the remote.  
“My left thumb dislocates easily. Old injury from martial arts practice.”   
Cody narrowed his eyes and looked unconvinced.   
Caitlin shrugged. “If it’s any consolation it hurt like a bitch.”   
But he shook his head. “A dislocated thumb wouldn’t have gotten you out, not the way you were tied.” He took another step towards her and Caitlin shrank back before catching herself and straightening up.  
“Maybe you didn’t tie the knots as well as you thought. I got out, I slept. Now what are we gonna do for fun today?” She gave him an expectant look, suppressing a shudder.  
“I’m thinking we should use that mouth of yours for something better than giving lip,” he said with a mocking grin.

He gripped her hair and ripped her head downwards, crashing her to her knees hard. Caitlin swallowed and tensed up, ready for the inevitable intrusion and foul taste. Instead of unzipping his pants, Cody gripped the nearest rope, muttering angrily while he jerkily gathered her hands behind her back and laced them together tightly.  
“No one fucking gets out of my ropes, bitch. I’m gonna prove it, I know you didn’t get out on your own. No, it was Dad, he took you tonight, he fucking two-timed me to have you to himself.” Cody tied off the knots at her wrists, pulling hard and Caitlin whimpered. Her fingers were already starting to prickle. He looped another rope around her neck, tying it in front of her, separating the cords and twining them around her body. 

Suddenly he yelled, face dark with anger: “Why are you covering for him, Sarah?” Cody lowered his voice again in a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s not good enough for you. He can’t take you the way I can.” Cody snuck a quick glance towards the closed door. “I’ll make you mine, Sarah. You’ll have to take whatever I give you and I’ll make you love it. Fucking love my cock. Love me.”

He kept working with the ropes until she could barely wiggle her toes, before turning her to lie on her back. Her hands and fingers throbbed and she found it hard to breathe with the way her hands made her back arch. Then he really did unzip his pants and Caitlin’s breathing sped up. No way she was getting out of this one. No way. 

Something surprisingly cold touched her mouth.  
“Open up, Sweetheart. Gonna make sure you don’t bite. Gonna make you take everything, be so good for me.” He squeezed her nose and waited for her to open her mouth for air. Caitlin held back until her body overrode her mind’s command and her mouth opened on its own accord. A piece of metal entered her mouth and pushed her jaws wide open.

After buckling the ring gag behind her head, Cody straddled her chest. One hand held his dick, the other was buried in her hair, holding her head still. Caitlin made inarticulate distressed noises as she fought to turn her head. Cody gripped her hair even tighter and lifted her head only to slam it back into the floor. Pain bloomed outward and the world went foggy, her body unresponsive.

XOXOX

Dean parked about a mile from the address they found at Frank’s. Selecting weapons, he wavered between a second gun or his machete. _‘They’re not vampires.’_ They’d have guns with them. In a firefight a second gun, more ammo, would be better. _‘They’re still monsters.’_ His hand gripped the machete and an extra clip for his Colt.

His pace was a compromise between speed and silence, until the cabin came into view. Angling his advance so he wasn’t visible from any windows, he tread more carefully. Glancing through a window, he couldn’t see any people; but there were sounds. Sounds of a scuffle, of distressed, muffled screams.

The door was locked but not very solid. It took two kicks to bring it down and then Dean was crossing the empty room, gun ready. He moved swiftly to the only other door, not even bothering with the handle before kicking it down. Of course they had heard him kick down the first door. Two men had guns pointed at him, while a third man was fumbling for his weapon, softening dick still hanging out. On the floor was Caitlin, gasping for air, naked, bound and gagged.

XOXOX

Sam lay strapped to the bed, enduring another onslaught of noisy hallucinations. _Who would have thought they’d make such a fuss over a little impromptu indoor fire?_ At least that girl, Marin, was safe from her brother’s ghost. Hopefully she’d be walking out of here soon. One last salt and burn, one last person saved. He sighed and waited for the inevitable. Two more days, three tops, and he would finally be at peace.  
“Yeah,” Lucifer grinned in answer to his unspoken thoughts. “You and Dean both.”

Sam closed his eyes wearily. Since Dean had left, Lucifer had insisted he would be dead before Sam.   
“It’s not like you’ve got any reason to say that, you’re just messing with me,” he told the broken part of his soul.   
Lucifer grinned even wider, like a Cheshire cat and then some.   
“Oh Sam, Sam, Sam,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. Did it really never occur to you that the address in Frank’s van was a Leviathan trap?”

Sam’s heart skipped a beat and his muscles stiffened. It took him several seconds to get his lungs to work. He drew in a deep breath.  
“Hey? Hey? Anyone? I need to make a phone call please! Help!”

XOXOX

Dean shot the oldest, largest man in the head, and moved on to the second, the youngest, in a millisecond, pulling the trigger again with no hesitation. The bullet went straight through and blood spattered the wall behind the kid as he dropped like a rock. Dean looked at the third, frozen with his gun halfway raised. Then he pulled the trigger for a third and a fourth time, the first bullet hitting the young man’s crotch, the second his head.

Dean dropped to the floor and crawled over to Caitlin, keeping up a constant stream of reassurance, careful to move slowly.   
“I’m here, nothing else is gonna happen to you, gonna take care of you, gonna get you out of here, sssssch.” He unbuckled the gag and Caitlin looked at him gratefully, closing her mouth with a sigh. The knots were tight and the rope thick so Dean cut them with the machete. 

When she was finally free, he dropped the blade and threw his arms open for a hug. She smiled. Her smile grew wider and wider until it was impossibly wide. Dean scrambled to retrieve his blade. Around him, the supposedly dead bodies began to stir.

XOXOX

The door banged open for a second time and the weight on Caitlin’s chest lifted. The strange gray fog covering everything dissipated and she could hear voices over the ringing in her ears.  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Saul snarled. He had Cody by the neck, practically dangling him over the floor. Then Cody gathered his wits and batted at his father’s arms until his feet found purchase.  
“You couldn’t keep it in the pants tonight, why should I wait any longer?”  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but Cody, son, we talked about this.” Saul motioned to Caitlin’s immobilized form. “You can’t… you can’t do that to Sarah.”  
“Fuck you, Dad!” Cody hit the door frame hard on his way out.

Saul removed the ring gag from Caitlin’s mouth and stroked her tear streaked cheeks.  
“I’m sorry, Sweetheart. He shouldn’t have done that.” He continued to loosen the ropes and Caitlin breathed deeply through the painful sensation of blood returning to her hands and feet.   
“Why do you care so much?”   
Saul frowned in annoyance. “Using someone who can’t defend themselves, that’s just wrong.” He spoke as if stating a simple fact of life, which of course, in a way he was. Caitlin let out a disbelieving laugh.  
“And telling a ten-year old to suck your dick or she won’t get any food is different how, exactly?”


	39. Breaking Point

Saul’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, before he stood up and left the room. It took a few moments for Caitlin to register that the click of the door locking behind him never came. All she had to do was get up and… somehow not get zapped again. She got on her feet shakily and reached for the doorknob when someone turned it from the other side. Brad gave her a wide eyed stare and held out a tray of food towards her. Somewhere behind him, there was a shouting match going on.

Brad visibly flinched at every angry outburst. She took the tray from him and caught herself smiling reassuringly.  
“Thank you, I was getting really hungry.” She stepped back to the far wall and sat down.  
Brad’s eyes regained their focus and he licked his lips, staring at the food.   
“You wanna share?” Caitlin smiled invitingly at the young man who, thirteen years ago, had gripped her hair and fucked her throat for the first time. She searched his eyes for any trace of who he had been then and couldn’t find any. He took a backwards step, shaking his head.  
“No thanks.” Brad picked up the bucket and left her alone. Unlike Saul, he remembered to lock the door behind him.

XOXOX

Dean never got to the machete before the Leviathan was on him. It held him down, ignoring his attempts to struggle free.  
"Where's the real Caitlin?"  
"Who cares," the monster replied, shrinking back into Caitlin’s likeness. "The real question is, where is your brother?"  
Dean winced. The Leviathan continued: "Until now, the two of you have been like a matched pair, always close. So I'm guessing he's around, just waiting for the right moment to save the day. This time, we won't let that happen."  
Dean laughed shakily. _How ironic is this?_ "Tell me where Caitlin is and I'll tell you about Sam."  
“Never mind,” the Leviathan Dean first shot commented from his place by the far wall. “We’ll find him. Just kill that one already.”

Dean fought to move his arms, his legs, anything, but there was no give. He let his eyes flash to the empty doorway and said in an exasperated tone: “Any second, Sammy.”   
The monster looked up. Dean bucked and writhed until his legs could move. His knee hit the Leviathan’s back hard. His right hand came free and he punched it rapidly three times in the face. _Caitie’s face, those fucking bastards._ He bucked up again and successfully dislodged the creature, reached for the machete… but it was still too far away. He pushed himself towards it, feeling hands gripping his clothes, too late, it was too late.

For no apparent reason, the machete slithered across the floor and into his open hand. _Like a freakin’ light saber._ No time for second guessing, Dean swung it as he turned around, severing the Leviathan’s head neatly. A shot rang out. Dean felt a sharp pain pierce through his left shoulder below the collarbone. _Right. Guns. Three more Leviathans, three guns and no Sam._ He rolled his shoulder gingerly, assessing the wound. Small caliber, hopefully it went right through. It hurt like a bitch but he could still move.

All three monsters had him at gunpoint. Dean closed his eyes, silently apologizing to Caitlin for failing her, to Sammy for leaving him to die alone. A gun went off. There was no pain, but it was so so cold.

XOXOX

Sam’s hands twitched in their restraints. It wouldn’t make a difference to put them over his ears, but he wanted to. Lucifer had begun his next recital of Bohemian Rhapsody, shouting rather than singing. He changed the meaning slightly every time, which made it more difficult to ignore. Mamma had been pappa, uncle and brother. The murdered man had been a monster, a friend, a niece _(nice one, Luci)_ and a brother _(you’re not subtle at all.)_ He had been killed by gun, knife, strangulation, defenestration, and was now once again being shot. With sound effects, this time. Sam startled at every loud noise.

“Cas! Cas! Please!” Sam startled again, had _he_ shouted that?   
“Sam, Sammy. Getting delirious already? Cassie’s dead, remember? Leviathans killed him. Killed good ol’ Bobby. By now they’re sure to have killed Dean too. You should have been there with him. You should have warned him it was a trap. Your brother’s dead because of _you_ Sam. You’re _pathetic._ ” Lucifer shook his head in mock disgust. He then launched into a strangely disharmonious adaptation of Don’t Fear the Reaper.

“Castiel. Please.” The words echoed in the small room, drowned out Lucifer’s sinister song, and granted Sam nearly one entire minute of peace. When the echo died down he repeated the prayer, but this time the words didn’t linger. 

In another state, a man of faith fought for his life. It might not have been a very long life, since he only remembered 6 months of it, but he fought for it nonetheless. His eyes, blue as the heaven he didn’t remember, flashed to the woman who had found him naked and stumbling without so much as a name on that first day. The woman who had given him everything lay on the floor, her blood oozing slowly from her broken body. 

_“Castiel. Please.”_

Vivid images [ _memories_ ] jack hammered into his skull. They were disconnected, fragments, but in them, he saw what he could do. He called up the power of God inside of him and touched the monster [ _demon_ ] that had killed Daphne and was trying to kill him. Bright light and screaming happened. He was left with the murderer’s body, eyes burned out of their sockets and more memories. All of the broken fragments coming together.

Castiel staggered and fell to his knees, eyes squeezed shut when the enormity of his past hit him. If he could undo the puzzle and sink back into oblivion, he would. The things he had done. Inexcusable, unforgivable, callous, catastrophic things. How could he still be alive?

_“Castiel, I can’t, I can’t... please, let me die.”_

Castiel opened his eyes. “Sam.”

Castiel, once an angel of the Lord, who turned against his brethren for the sake of humanity, spread his ethereal wings and arrived in Sam Winchester’s hospital room a heartbeat later. Sam was alone at the moment but there were footsteps in the hallway. Castiel wasn’t up for the intricacies of human bureaucracy, so he put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, and flapped his wings once more.

XOXOX

Confused, Dean opened his eyes and looked behind him. There was a bullet hole in the wooden wall several feet to his left. The three Leviathans looked equally perplexed, guns still aimed at Dean. The chill settled in his bones, familiar in its persistency. Ghost.

The Leviathan who had been calling the shots so far, recovered with a pinched smile. Its eyes narrowed. Its finger tightened around the trigger. It yelled, startled. The gun flew from its hand, landing somewhere behind Dean. He dropped to the floor, two bullets flying over his head. He gripped the machete tightly and launched himself towards the now unarmed Leviathan.

Another surprised yell, another clunk of a gun hitting the floor. Somewhere to the other side, one more Leviathan had lost its weapon. Dean roared with anger as he took the head off the monster in front of him and spun around. Machete raised, he headed straight towards the last gun barrel still pointed at him.

It was reckless, going against a lifetime of training. Dean moved on instinct, trusting the mysterious gun throwing Casper to have his back. He was only slightly disappointed. The gun went off, bullet grazing his left bicep. Dean swung the machete and momentarily had to close his eyes to avoid the spray of black goo. He was stalking his last victim before the separated head hit the floor. 

As soon as all the Leviathan lay still and headless, the room warmed again. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He hurt a lot, the shoulder wound still bleeding freely. A salt and burn on top of everything would have been torturous. 

Ripping up the shirt of the biggest guy, he tied a wad of fabric as tight against the wound as he could. He could feel the blood slowly oozing through it but it was the best he could do for now. He picked up the four heads, dangling them by their hair.  
“I hope this hurts, you fucking prehistoric lizard morons.” 

He carried the heads all the way back to the car. The gash on his arm stung and burned. The wound in his shoulder kept bleeding through the cloth, shooting pain everywhere with every step he took. Dean threw the heads into the shade under the trees and opened the trunk. He tossed the machete in there and rummaged around until he got the shovel. He found a spot hidden from the road with soft dirt and dug a shallow pit. He was out of breath, dizzy and fighting off nausea before the Leviathan heads were hidden.

He got back to the car, tossed the shovel back in the trunk, shrugged off his jacket and used the side mirror to look for an exit wound in his shoulder. There wasn’t one. He’d have to dig deep for a goddamned bullet before closing up properly and he was already in pretty bad shape. The emergency kit held most of what he’d need but he was low on alcohol. There wasn’t enough to flush the wound before stitching it. He didn’t exactly have time for an infection. Frustrated he settled for changing the wad and gasping through the pain when retying it to put more pressure on the injury.

He got into the driver’s seat, and took a look at himself in the rearview mirror. He was pale, dark smudges under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. _Oh, Sammy._ He opened the glove compartment for his phone, intent on finding somewhere close where he could patch himself up properly.

8 missed calls. Heart hammering so hard he could feel it in his throat, Dean hit redial.   
“Indiana State Hospital, how may I help you?”  
“Um, hey, this is Dean Smith. I think maybe my brother has tried to call me? He’s up at the psychiatric ward. Sam Smith.”  
“Please hold.”  
Electronic music the equivalent to Chinese water torture had him gnashing his teeth within seconds. By the time it stopped, he felt close to an aneurysm.   
“Dean Smith?”  
“Yeah?”  
“This is Dr. Kadinsky. We’ve been trying to reach you.”  
“What’s up, Doc?” Dean covered his eyes with his palm. Of all the dumbest things to say...  
“We initially called you to ask for permission to experiment with electroshock therapy on your brother. However that is no longer relevant. I must inform you that your brother is gone, Mr. Smith.”

_Sam, six months old, wrapped in a blanket, big baby blue eyes staring wonderingly up at Dean in the flickering light of the flames that ate their mother._  
Sam, taking his first steps towards Dean, reaching out his arms, happily yelling “Dee, Dee.”  
Sam, first day at school, nervous and shy at first, but so proud when he came home. “I knew all the answers, Dean. But I learned lots too.” 

“Mr. Smith? Are you there? We need you to come back and sign some papers.”

_Sam, nine years old, down with the flu, lucid at last after calling desperately for Dean during his fever dreams. “You take such good care of me, Dee. You’re the best big brother in the whole world.”_  
Sam, sixteen years old, dressed in slacks and a purple button-down, borrowing the Impala for his first real date. “Shut up, Jerk. There won’t be a scratch on her and I’m not gonna fuck Alysha in the back seat.”  
Sam, eighteen years old, slamming the door in dad’s face, leaving them, leaving Dean, to go to college. His eyes meeting Dean’s seconds before disappearing from view. “I’ll call.” 

“Hello? Mr. Smith? Are you listening?”

_Sam next to Dean’s bed at the hospital after he electrocuted himself by accident. “I won’t let you die. I’m gonna save you.”  
Sam in Cold Oak, face down in the mud, knife through his spine. Sam’s breathing hitching and then stopping completely._

Dean never regretted selling his soul for his brother’s life back then. He didn’t regret it when Sam was crying, helpless, while hellhounds tore Dean apart. Not even when they told him he had kickstarted the freaking apocalypse with his actions, did he regret anything. Sam’s life was worth every single day of the four months, the actual forty years Dean spent in hell. If Cas hadn’t pulled him out, if Dean had had to spend the rest of eternity down there, blackeyed and burning with hate, it would have been worth it.

That was the kicker, wasn’t it? Because a couple of years later, it had been Sam who chose to sacrifice himself. Not just for Dean but for the whole world. Jumping into the deepest corner of hell with archangels Lucifer and Michael for company. Sam hadn’t expected an out when he did that. He hadn’t expected his body to be pulled out and his soul left behind to suffer for who knows how many centuries of hell time, before Dean found a way to rescue him. 

When Lucifer invaded Sam’s mind and poisoned his thoughts and it got so bad, Dean had to stop him from killing himself… did he regret his choice? And now, eight months later, this last, final week, when all the coping strategies Sam had mastered suddenly failed; had Sam regretted his choice? Sam had been calm and acceptant of everything when Dean saw him at the hospital. No, Sam didn’t regret a thing. 

But Dean did. He should have been there. He should have stayed by his brother’s side and seen this through. He should have looked for something, anything to stop Sam from dying. He should have saved his little brother. 

The phone fell from his numb fingers and he didn’t bother to pick it back up. He clutched the wheel with both hands, unbothered by the way the blood flow from his shoulder increased when his arm tensed up.


	40. Black Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a little short. I didn't want to post a horrible cliffhanger.

Castiel brought Sam to the undisturbed master bedroom of the house where he had lived in sweet oblivion for the past six months. Sam showed no sign that he had registered the change of location. 

Castiel touched his forehead and concentrated. It was a mess; the barrier built to protect Sam from his time in hell was no longer leaking poison into his mind. It had crumbled so completely that there was nothing left to rebuild. Castiel could not undo his heinous crime.

Sam lay on the bed, eyes open and unseeing, mouth moving as if speaking.  
“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m sorry.” Castiel knelt next to the young man he had once been proud to call his friend. 

Something tickled his cheek; Castiel hesitantly touched the place. Wet. If only tears of an angel were actually a powerful source of healing. Despite all the people he had healed in these last few months of blissful ignorance, Castiel was completely useless when it counted.

“I’ll think of something,” he whispered to Sam.  
Sam didn’t blink, his silent words didn’t slow.

XOXOX

Caitlin ate her breakfast. The cutlery wasn't useful for opening the door. After an hour of trying to bend the fork in a shape that would allow her to pick the lock, she gave up. She dozed off until the door opened again. Brad brought her a lunch tray with a sandwich and picked up the empty one.  
"Thank you, Brad."  
Brad said nothing. He left her only to come back again with the bucket, smelling of Ajax. The door closed behind him and the lock clicked. Caitlin sighed deeply and pushed the food away.

Was anyone looking for her? If Dean and Sam were alive, surely they were? They must be looking for her. But the case in Coeur d'Alene had sounded bad. Real bad. No, they were okay. They just hadn't been able to find her. Yet.

Caitlin had been on her own most of her life, used to no one caring whether she lived or died beyond who would make dinner if she wasn’t there. Despite Dean’s initial reaction to her insistence on learning about monsters _(as if I didn’t know plenty to begin with)_ travelling with him and Sam had been nice. Occasionally extremely stressful but most of the time, it had been Sam’s soft spoken company and Dean’s easy camaraderie.

It had been nights with Dean’s heartbeat in her ears, his arm slung casually around her shoulders. It had been laughter, tears, near death experiences that somehow weren’t so bad when she knew that the outcome _mattered._ She had _friends_ who would be sad if she didn’t make it. 

She remembered the night after the Amazon attack, after Emma, and let her fingertips trace her lips. Perhaps Dean wasn’t just a friend. The Djinn hadn’t seemed to think so. But what they’d been, what they’d had together in that poison induced dreamworld wasn’t something that could ever exist in reality. And it wasn’t, she was surprised to realize, what she really wanted anyway.

 _I'm gonna get out of here. And when I do, I won't let these assholes control my body anymore._ She crossed her heart and swore it to herself.

She spent time picturing doing the things that had been forced upon her once, with Dean. Imagined what he would look like, what he would sound like while fucking into her. What his lips would feel like on her skin. Her heart pounded and she broke out a sweat. An itch, hot and unreachable grew inside of her. Dean would know how to scratch it. Dean would hold her and keep her safe. _Dean. Are you still out there?_ Caitlin cried herself to sleep. 

She woke up hungry and ate the now dry sandwich. After, she exercised until she was a sweaty, panting mess. Then she sat down and recited prime numbers, chemical compounds in medicine, anything she could do, not to think about anything at all.

XOXOX

The wheel was too thick in Dean’s hands. The dashboard looked wrong through his blurred vision. He reached behind him and caught the sleeve of his jacket and pulled it to him. He took Bobby’s old flask out and helped himself to a taste of Jim B. Probably not the best kind of fluid to replace the blood he’d lost with, but he felt sufficiently justified. Too bad the bottle was almost empty. He tossed the flask on the passenger seat and fumbled to turn the key. It took him a full minute to find it; he kept running his fingers across the dash until he remembered the ignition in this car was situated on the steering column. The engine coughed to life and Dean closed his eyes. Had he been driving his baby, he would have been home all the way to wherever he was going.

Dean put the car in drive and let it drift down the road. The numbers on the speedometer blurred, the lines of the road writhed in front of him. Night fell over him. 

He opened his eyes to mid day light shivering with cold. His shoulder throbbed painfully. Cold, wet and sticky. Still bleeding then. Dean groaned and without looking, he stretched his right arm for the flask in the passenger seat. Sharp, stabbing pain wrenched through his left shoulder when his weight shifted. The world was upside down. Dean blinked and shook his head to clear away the spots and confusion.

The car was upside down in a ditch. The pain in his shoulder grew by the second, protesting gravity’s pull against the seat belt and kept him focused. He fumbled with the buckle and landed in a boneless heap when it snapped open. He forced deep breaths into his lungs; until he stopped the bleeding in his shoulder, he needed to stay awake.

In the end, he kicked the windshield a couple of times, and crawled out through the opening when it gave way. He felt drops of clammy sweat run down his neck and he was panting from the exertion as if he had just gone with Sam on one of his crazy morning runs. The car was resting on the roof and the rear end, effectively barring Dean from the trunk and the first aid kit.

He tore up his shirt to change the padding for his soaked bandage. Stumbling down the road, each step a struggle, he cursed Caitlin and her psychotic, incestuous, misogynistic family. If not for them, he could have stayed in the goddamned car until a reaper came for him. If not for them, he could have been with Sam, hell, maybe he could have saved Sam.

He plodded on, determined to put one foot in front of the other, to not pass out. He mumbled barely intelligible words preparing a thorough brotherly rebuke for Sam. Dean would visit him at Stanford when this was over and chew his little brother out for skipping on him. Yeah, and then Dean and Caitlin could go on a double date with Sam and that hottie of his, Jessica. That would be awesome. All he had to do was find Caitlin and they could drive out west. Stop somewhere remote and watch a sunset together, maybe fool around some.

XOXOX

Castiel weighed his options. He could theoretically erase Sam’s memories of the time after the wall in his mind was destroyed. There was no guarantee that would work, though. If he could, he would erase all Sam’s memories of hell, but they spanned over centuries. Sam’s soul was in tatters because of his torment and removing what happened from his mind, would destroy the very essence of Sam.

Saving Sam came down to making a sacrifice. In the end, it wasn’t a hard choice. Castiel projected his thoughts on the matter on a piece of paper, meant for Sam to read. It was highly unlikely that Castiel would be able to explain anything, when he was done. He closed his eyes and reached out to Sam. Reached into him. Castiel filtered through Sam’s memories and took away the pain and shame from every second of torture. He took it on himself.

Sam slept. Castiel eyed him warily, not sure who or what he was seeing. Half panicked, he left the room, clutching a piece of paper that no longer held any meaning in his fist. Downstairs, he crossed the living room floor without a downwards glance, his shoes making large footprints in the now cold blood. He went to the kitchen, opened the fridge and got himself a glass of cool milk. With no conscious effort, he turned on the TV with a flick of his power, and sat down in the couch to watch M*A*S*H.


	41. Bloody Time

When the grass at the side of the road turned into gravel, his feet stopped of their own accord. Slowly, Dean lifted his eyes from the ground. It was a long driveway leading up to a bungalow. There was a car out front, so someone was probably home. He’d borrow their bathroom, hopefully find a set of tweezers, get the bullet out. Yeah, that’d be good. 

His legs were shaking when he got them moving again, right, left, right, left. He eyed the car, a red-brown dirty pile of rust with Arkansas plates. Dean read the numbers on autopilot and stopped dead. "Son of a bitch."

It took him a few tries to get his Colt free of his waistband. He opened the chamber, frowning. Two bullets left. The spare mag was in his jacket, back in the car. _'Here goes nothing.'_ He turned the doorknob slowly; it wasn't locked.

XOXOX

The door opened to reveal Saul looking thunderous. He must have spent the day or so since their last conversation slowly getting angrier and angrier.

"We're done babying you, Sarah. Next time you use your mouth to talk, I'm pushing the button." He held up the accursed remote for the collar around her neck. Saul's fingers closed around her wrist and pulled her up to stand next to him. "Come here."

It was the same bare bathroom she had visited before. This time a shower hose had been connected to the faucet. Saul pushed her into a corner, where she could feel a drain under her toes. Caitlin didn't take her eyes off Saul. He turned on the water, adjusted the water pressure to the highest setting, and let the ice cold water pummel her.

After a few minutes he turned it off and handed her a bar of soap. Caitlin scrubbed herself thoroughly, until Saul wordlessly turned the water back on and washed the suds off of her. He grabbed her hand again and pulled her with him. She stumbled after him, teeth chattering from the cold water still clinging to her body.

He dragged her to another part of the house; a sparingly furnished living room. The walls were dark, the couch was ratty and the TV was an antique giant box. All Caitlin saw was Cody on the couch, his fly open and stroking his dick. Cody was leering at her in a way that had her instinctively hugging herself. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from begging them to leave her alone.

“Go on,” Saul said, voice gruff, pushing her towards Cody. “Show him why tying you up is a waste of potential. Or I’ll let him do it next time.” She turned to him, searched his face for any sign of mercy, and found him closed off and determined. Trembling, she faced Cody again. He made a ‘come here’ gesture, his mouth curled in an impatient sneer. Someone must have spilled superglue on the floor, as she was unable lift her feet.

Saul snatched a handful of her hair and dragged her forward. Caitlin made a pitiful keening noise, caught between obedient silence and the pain in her scalp. Saul pushed her to her knees between Cody’s splayed legs and let her hair go. Cody’s veined dick bobbed expectantly inches from her face. The smell of cheap aftershave and Cody’s sweat hit her nostrils. Caitlin swallowed hard several times, but bile kept rising in her throat. _‘I can’t.’_ She closed her eyes. 

“I can’t!” Tears ran down her face.   
Saul fisted his hand in her hair again, shaking her a little. “What did I tell you about speaking?”  
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t. Push the button. Kill me. Please.” Loud sobs wracked through her body.

Cody reached forward to cup her chin. “Sarah, look at me.” When she didn’t react, he slapped her cheek hard. “Look at me, killjoy.” He slapped her again, harder.  
Caitlin looked, still shaking and crying.  
“We’re not gonna kill you. You’re ours and we’re gonna take care of you. And that means you’re gonna take care of us.” Cody looked up at his father with a meaningful expression. 

Saul released her hair, only for Cody to tangle his hands in it and draw her closer yet. “Take a deep breath, Sarah. I don’t want you passing out on me.”

XOXOX

Dean staggered through an unlit hallway. His feet dragged, floorboards creaked. He held his Colt in his right hand, arm hanging relaxed and the barrel pointing downwards. It was going to cost him precious time when he needed it, but he didn’t have the strength to hold it up.

Dean opened the first door on his right. The room was devoid of people but held a queen, a desk and a laptop. The walls were decorated with posters of naked women; bound and gagged in various degrading positions, depicted as crying and begging. _‘Caitlin, oh fuck.’_ A rack held several coils of rope and Dean reached up his left hand for a bunch of them. His arm trembled with the strain and he felt new beads of sweat form on his forehead. He exhaled loudly when he lowered the arm again, ropes hanging from his loosely closed fist. Now to not stumble in them.

The next room wasn’t empty. A slim guy with light blond hair lay on the bed, eyes closed and a set of headphones on. Dean recognized him; after all he had killed a Leviathan copy of him earlier that same day. Enough noise escaped the headphone speakers that Dean didn’t bother with silence. The young man’s eyes flew open when the barrel of the gun pressed against his forehead. Dean gestured at the headphones and the guy took them off slowly, frightened grey eyes never leaving the gun aimed at his head.

“Where’s Caitlin?”  
“Caitlin?”   
“The woman you kidnapped, asshole.”  
“You’re here for Sarah?” The man’s expression gave Dean pause. Was that… relief?  
Dean nodded.   
The guy slid to the edge of his bed without taking his hands down. “Follow me.”

They walked in silence, Dean biting back groans of pain and blinking back droplets of sweat. He breathed hard from the strain of holding up the gun and hiding his fatigue. Then he heard Caitlin’s distressed voice, too faint to make out any words. Adrenaline rushed through his body, sending his heart rate skyrocketing. A small trail of blood ran down his chest.  
“Hurry.” 

They ran to the next door, where the young man stopped, dead in his tracks.   
“They’re in there,” he whispered.

XOXOX

Caitlin barely had time to inhale before she was yanked forward. She shut her mouth with a snap and Cody’s grip in her hair tightened further. There was the sound of a door opening. Cody looked up to see Brad.

"Hey bro. Decided to join the party after all?" He looked incredibly smug.  
Brad stood stock still. "Not as such." His shaky voice made Cody relax his grip on Caitlin a fraction and narrow his eyes, just as Saul got up to walk towards him. Brad took a stumbling step into the room, followed by a hand holding a gun. Caitlin gasped when Dean appeared in the doorway.

He was shaking, face pale and drawn and his entire body held wire taut. His clothes were a sticky crimson mess, blood everywhere. She wrenched herself free of Cody and was halfway through her first step towards Dean, when Saul spoke.   
“Put the gun down or I zap her.” He held out the remote for the collar for emphasis. The gun shifted from Brad’s head to Saul’s crotch instantly.   
The white in Dean’s eyes stood out and the slight tremors running through his body increased.  
“You have three seconds to drop that thing or you’ll be spending the rest of your very short life as a eunuch.” The rage behind Dean’s words left no room for doubt as to how seriously he meant the threat.  
Saul swallowed and moved his thumb over the button.   
“One.”   
The remote landed on the floor, dropped as if on fire.

Caitlin ran to Dean, coming to a stop in front of him, her hands patting him down to find the source of the blood. Up close, his lips were tinged with blue.  
“Not yet,” he said. “Take this.”   
She barely caught his gun before it fell from his hand. He remained standing only on account of the doorway supporting his weight. 

She spun, her grip and stance testimony to the hours she’d spent on the gun range. She caught Saul in the act of bending down to retrieve the remote. She fired a warning shot, the bullet digging into the floor inches from his right foot. He stepped back quickly. Dean shifted the ropes to his right hand and held them out to Caitlin. 

“Brad.” Caitlin nodded at the ropes and Brad resignedly took them from Dean. Without any further instruction, he went to tie Saul’s hands behind his back. His father’s eyes screamed bloody murder at his youngest son, but Brad hardly flinched. When Saul was bound, hands and feet, Brad turned to his brother and didn’t move. 

Cody still sat on the couch, his dick now tucked away. He sneered at his brother, contempt in his voice. “Just get it over with, fucking brat.”  
Brad sighed and went over to him with heavy steps. He mumbled words of apology that only seemed to enrage Cody further.

“Shut up. You goddamned little weasel.” Cody launched himself from the couch, ripping his right hand from Brad’s hesitant grip and clocked him. Brad staggered backwards. Caitlin aimed the Colt at the wall behind Cody and pulled the trigger. Plaster rained over Cody, Dean drew in a sharp breath next to her, and she silently cursed. The slide and hammer stayed out; the Colt now blatantly empty. 

The three men turned towards her and Dean like a pack of wolves scenting wounded prey. Behind her, Dean slid a few inches downwards before catching himself.   
He turned his eyes heavenwards. “Could we catch a goddamned break for a second here?”


	42. Burn Together

Saul dove backwards, his bound hands awkwardly searching for the remote. Desperate, Caitlin threw the gun at him. Saul ducked out of the way and made a triumphant noise. “Any last words for your dead boyfriend, Sarah?”  
Dean and Caitlin spoke simultaneously, glaring at him.  
“I’m not dead.”  
“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Caitlin turned her glare to Dean. “Exactly what kind of rescue mission is this?”  
Dean made a weak attempt at his trademark smirk. “The ‘time for plan B’ kind.”  
“I don’t suppose you’ve got an extra weapon hidden somewhere on you? Perhaps up your ass, Winchester?” Her nostrils flared as she fingered the improvised bandage over his shoulder with trembling hands.  
“Sorry.” Dean closed his eyes and didn’t open them again for several seconds.  
“Some rescue, mister.” There was fondness and fear in her voice.  
Dean gave her another shaky smile. “Everyone’s a critic.” 

Either Cody or Brad had freed Saul’s hands. Cody and Saul were watching their exchange with dark expressions; Brad had picked up the empty gun and fiddled with it quietly.

Caitlin stood as close to Dean as she could get without her naked body touching him anywhere. Even smelling of blood, sweat and Leviathan goo, barely staying conscious, having him close made her calm. In her professional opinion, he was in hypovolemic shock, stage three, potentially fatal if he didn’t get to a hospital soon. But he was there.  
“So what’s plan B then, genius?”  
“I guess it’s really plan F.” Dean shrugged minutely and flinched at the pain.  
Caitlin raised one eyebrow questioningly.  
“As in ‘we’re fucked,’” Dean clarified.

Pain hit Caitlin out of nowhere. Her eyes got impossibly big before her whole body gave out under her. Dean let himself slide down to shake her by the shoulder. Saul grinned, fingering the remote in his hand.   
“She’ll be out for a little while. Long enough for us to remedy that ‘not dead’ thing, pretty boy.”

Dean snorted. “As if I wasn’t gonna kill you anyway but just for that, you shit for brains, no good redneck, now I’m gonna make it hurt.”  
Saul’s smile never wavered. “Big talk. You look a little pale there, punk. Forgot to take your vitamins?” 

Dean got his feet under him and let his right arm support his weight, but only got up halfway before a wave of dizziness crashed over him.   
Saul’s grin widened. “Boys! Gimme a hand.”

Dean struggled feebly when rough hands dragged him down the hall.   
“Dad?” Brad stayed back a little. “Dad, stop for a second!”  
“What?!”  
“Maybe we shouldn’t kill him.”   
“Brad, if you ain’t got the stomach for it, go to your room.” Saul threw his customary look of disdain at his youngest son.   
Brad sighed. “No, that’s not it. I don’t think Sarah’s gonna do what you tell her to, even with the collar. But she probably won’t want her friend to die.”

Saul paused. He looked at Dean and then at Brad and broke into a lascivious smile. “You want this asspussy for yourself, faggot?”   
Cody laughed so suddenly he almost swallowed his own tongue and started coughing.   
Dean twisted harder against their grip, cursing up a storm.   
Brad turned bright red; still, he didn’t look away from his father. “Fine, kill him. Just don’t take it out on me when Sarah’s attitude gets even worse.” Brad spun on his heel and walked back to where Caitlin lay motionless.

XOXOX

Caitlin felt no better waking up this time than the last time the collar had been set off. Hands were dragging her back into her tiny grey room. She bit back a whimper when they let her go and her body fell a few inches to the floor. Her muscles really didn’t like getting shocked.

She was left alone though the door stayed open. Moments later, Cody and Saul dragged another limp form in next to her. 

“Dean! Oh God.” It had only been fifteen minutes at most since the lights went out on her, but the Mitchell men had been busy. Half his face was matted red with the blood from a split eyebrow. More blood was dripping from his nose. The bandage on his shoulder had been ripped off to reveal a bullet hole, bleeding at an alarming rate with nothing to staunch the flow. They had stripped him of his clothes and several bruises across his body were slowly spreading and darkening.

Saul and Cody stood in the doorway, admiring their handiwork. 

Where he wasn’t covered in blood, his freckles stood out starkly against his pallid skin. His breath was coming in short gasps. At the sound of her voice, he cracked open his eyes.  
“Caitie,” he near whispered. “’m sorry I screwed up. Promise me… promise me you’ll get out somehow.”  
Caitlin took his hand. “We both will.” She kept her voice steady, wanted him to believe her.   
Dean shook his head slightly. “No. You gotta let me go. Don’t…” he took a deeper breath and winced. “Don’t let them use me against you.” He squeezed her hand feebly and his eyes begged her to listen. “I’d rather die.”

Saul smiled expectantly. “That can be arranged.” He turned to Caitlin. “See, Sarah, this is how it’s gonna go. You either make me and the boys happy, or that meddling cocksucker pays the price.”  
“You know,” Dean said, wheezing a little, “When I carve out that wrinkled little raisin that’s your heart…” He paused to swallow. “I’m gonna stuff it up your gigantic asshole and bury you face down. I bet that’ll grow a tree of special stupid.”

Saul’s eyes darkened with anger and he took a step towards Dean. Caitlin interrupted. “I’m not doing anything if he dies, you know that, don’t you?” She pushed herself into a sitting position next to Dean and stage-whispered: “Maybe you should turn down the charm a little?” Dean grunted incoherently and closed his eyes.

Caitlin turned back to Saul. “If you leave him in here now, he’ll be dead in five to ten hours.”  
Saul snorted. “The way he talks, I seriously doubt that.”  
Caitlin pointed to Dean’s blue lips. “See that color? Did you stop to feel his pulse when you beat the crap out of him? His heart is racing, beating twice as fast as normal. But you wouldn’t have known that, because his blood pressure is too low to feel a pulse anywhere but at his carotid. He’s got hypovolemia. See? She pressed a finger into the flesh of Dean’s bicep. Her fingerprint stayed visible for a long time. She lifted Dean’s right hand and pointed to his fingertips. “His fingertips are blue and it’ll get worse. Even if I stop the bleeding now, with no further treatment, he’ll still be in risk of losing fingers and toes due to gangrene.”

Caitlin got to her feet and walked over to Saul. “I know you’re not going to take him to a hospital, where his chances for a full recovery would be around 95%.” She stepped into his space, let him tower over her still naked form. Her skin broke out in goosebumps and she suppressed the urge to hug herself, to walk away. “But if you give me tweezers, gauze, disinfectants, dental floss, a needle, a short knife, a lighter, three thick blankets, a pillow, lots of water, protein mix and hot soup…” She put her hand on Saul’s chest seductively. “ _Maybe_ , I’ll make it worth your while.”

Saul frowned. “Maybe?”  
“Without a blood transfusion and a crash cart nearby, his chances are more like fifty fifty.” Caitlin stepped back with a relieved exhale and glared at Saul. “If he dies, I’ll kill myself before I do anything to please you.”   
Saul flinched slightly before his expression darkened. Caitlin felt dread in her stomach when Dean didn’t protest her words. She dropped to her knees beside him.  
“Dean? Dean? Come on, talk to me. Tell me I’m an idiot. Dean!” She turned to Saul. “Get me what I asked for. Hurry!”  
Saul closed the door behind him with a stony expression.

Dean opened one eye a fraction and whispered: “You’re pretty convincing. I almost believed I was dying myself.”   
Caitlin gave a startled sob. “That’s because I wasn’t lying, dumbass.” She leaned down until her forehead rested on his. “I wasn’t lying.”  
Dean’s left hand came up to rest against her neck. “It’s okay, Caitie. I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.”  
She pulled back and raised an eyebrow. “Even if I was a shopaholic, I wouldn’t buy your bull.”  
Dean smiled for real, for the first time since Indiana. “That’s okay. It’s free.” He let his eyes drift closed again and his hand fell limply back to the floor. Caitlin took hold of it, rubbing his freezing fingers while she cried.


	43. Waiting

Some time later, Saul returned, Brad behind him. They both had their arms full. Saul put his load down just inside. He gave Caitlin a pointed look. “You have 24 hours.”  
Brad stayed behind and helped her arrange everything into neat piles. “I’ll be bringing you food and water. Just holler.” He was looking at Dean’s still form while he spoke. He stopped in the doorway as he was leaving and finally met Caitlin’s eyes. “Good luck, Sarah.”  
She nodded her thanks and got to work.

The bullet was buried deep and while she dug for it, she was almost thankful that Dean was passed out. Once it was gone, closing up the wound wasn’t that hard. She ended up stitching his eyebrow and a gash on his left bicep too. Then all she could do was keep him as warm and comfortable as possible and wait.

After a few hours, his pulse slowed a little, his breaths got deeper and Caitlin called Brad and asked for soup. She mixed it with water and protein until it was only slightly warmer than normal body temperature. Then she parted his lips gently and fed him, a few drops at a time. She kept it going until the liquid was too cold. 

Caitlin felt bone tired and aching all over. She laid down next to Dean, careful to keep a blanket between their naked bodies. It felt much like the nights they had already spent sleeping close together, and it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep. 

She woke with a start, instantly aware. The shallow and quickened rhythm of Dean’s breathing had been broken. She sat up next to him and waited anxiously until he drew in a deeper, hitching breath. Caitlin kept watch over him until her own heart no longer sat in her throat. She put her fingers on his carotid and smiled to herself. Dean was getting better. She spent half an hour getting some water and protein into him, before she lay down beside him again. This time, she curled up under the blanket and reveled in the sensation of skin to skin contact. 

The next time she woke, Dean’s eyes were moving rapidly underneath his eyelids. He was dreaming, not unconscious. She kissed his cheek and crawled out from under their blankets. She knocked gently on the door and softly called Brad’s name. Barely a minute passed before the door opened, to reveal Brad wearing pajamas and rubbing his eyes sleepily. He eyed Caitlin questioningly.

“I think he’s stable for now. I’d like to go to the bathroom, please?”  
Brad nodded. “Sure.” He waited for Caitlin to exit and locked the door behind them. He stopped outside the bathroom door, and she went through the motions alone. She kept her breaths deep and even and every time the ghost of ice cold water permeated her senses, she banished it with the intimate, smooth feeling of Dean’s skin against her own.

Back in the room, Caitlin sat down next to Dean, checked his pulse and estimated his temperature. She looked up, surprised to see Brad still standing in the door.  
“So he’s really gonna be okay?” Brad spoke softly.  
“We’ll see. I’d feel better if he could get a transfusion. He could run a fever and we don’t have any antibiotics. There’s so many possible complications I can’t counter with this.” Caitlin indicated the supplies Brad and Saul had brought her.

Brad’s lips quirked upwards in a rare smile. “He doesn’t seem the type to chicken out, though.”  
Caitlin chuckled. “You have no idea.”  
With one last lingering look at Dean, Brad nodded his head and left.

XOXOX

Sam woke, feeling rested. As soon as he opened his eyes, worry overshadowed the relief of having slept. He was in a room he didn’t remember ever seeing before. Light and homey, knick-knacks and light blue curtains. The bed was a four-poster and Sam was taking up most of it. Lucifer was nowhere to be seen or heard. It remained to be seen whether that was a good thing or not.

He looked down to find himself still dressed in hospital clothes. He had helped that girl. Then Lucifer had said Dean was headed into a trap. Sam didn’t remember anything after that, least of all how he had ended up in someone’s bedroom.

Sam stood and left the room quietly. He found the other rooms on the top floor empty and slowly walked down the stairs. His eyes bulged when he caught sight of the bodies and blood in the living room. He froze while he took stock of the situation. The woman had been stabbed; the man had been killed by an angel. Sam pressed the scar in his hand, half expecting everything to flicker and disappear. Things stayed the same. 

Sam switched his attention to the TV and startled at the completely still profile on the couch. The familiar form made his heart skip a beat. “Cas?”

Castiel turned towards the voice and recoiled in horror. It was a devil, a giant horned beast with hoofs and tail.  
“Cas, is that really you? We thought you were dead. You walked into that reservoir and just… dissolved. How are you here?”  
The beast was talking to Castiel in incomprehensible growls and grunts, each syllable painful to his ears. He put his hands over his ears and shut his eyes tightly. He began humming a lullaby to himself to drown out the awful sounds.

Sam watched Cas cower in worried confusion until his eyes fell upon a crumpled piece of paper bearing his name on the table. He read it, and sat down on the couch opposite Cas with a little thump. He folded in on himself.   
“Fuck, Cas. Are you seeing him? What do you see? Shit. I forgave you, you know. I understand why you did it. I don’t… I never wished for you to feel like I did.”  
Cas rocked silently, eyes closed and hands over his ears. Sam shook his head sadly. 

_Dean_. Sam got up and searched high and low until he found a phone.

XOXOX

Dean woke up with the mother of all headaches and feeling weak as a kitten. Without opening his eyes, he groaned loudly.  
“Sam? Did you catch the plate on that truck?” He yawned enthusiastically. “Hook me up with some Advil, would you?”  
Caitlin dug through the provisions and found a small cup labeled ‘painkillers’. She held a couple and a bottle of water out to Dean. “Here.”  
Dean opened his eyes to find Caitlin very close and completely naked. He tried to sit up and the intense pain in his shoulder clued him in. _Plan F_. “Thanks.” He let her put the pills into his mouth and gulped down enough water to swallow them when she held the bottle to his mouth. He closed his eyes to wait for them to kick in.

Caitlin called Brad for more soup. He almost dropped the bowl when Dean opened his eyes at the sound of the door.  
“You’re awake:”  
“Relatively,” Dean grunted.  
Brad remained frozen at the door, eyes fixed on Dean, until Caitlin wordlessly took the bowl of soup from his hands. He abruptly tore his gaze away and left without another word.

Dean was magnanimously allowed a pillow under his head while Caitlin spoon fed him, only after strict instructions to let her know if he started to feel strange. 

Caitlin insisted Dean stayed lying down, even when he had to piss. She grabbed his dick unceremoniously and put the tip into an empty water bottle. Dean made a sound that definitely wasn’t a squeak and protested vehemently, until the strain of talking and gesticulating with his right hand had made him dizzy and out of breath. He swallowed his pride and did what he had to, bemoaning the fact that he couldn’t even blush, much less pop a boner while a beautiful naked woman had her fingers around his cock. 

When he no longer felt like he was about to pass out, he took her hand. “How long?”  
“How long what?” Caitlin didn’t meet his eyes but took his hand and laced their fingers together.  
“How long until they expect you to pay them back for letting me live?” He squeezed her hand.   
“About six to eight hours, I think.”  
“What are the chances I’ll be back in fighting form by then?”

Caitlin chuckled, then saw that he was serious. “Are you a human being? A homo sapiens? No weird monster crossbreed, genetically engineered elite soldier or secret superhero?” She gave him a wry smile as he shook his head minutely. “Then your chances are a great big fat zero.”  
“Pessimist. Gimme some more grub, ‘n I’ll show you.”


	44. Nick of Time

Sam gave up when Dean’s cell went directly to voicemail a third time in a row. The GPS in the cell he’d swiped from the dead guy informed him that he was in Colorado, at least 25 hours of hard driving from where Dean had been headed the last time they spoke. 

He walked over to where Cas was singing quietly to himself, careful to keep a few feet distance.  
“Cas, I know you’re not feeling well, but I need your help. Dean needs your help. You remember Dean, don’t you?”  
Cas didn’t react to Sam’s voice at all. Sam sighed and ran his hands through his hair.  
“You saved him before. He was in hell and you got him out. You Cas. That’s your job. You save Dean.” Sam’s voice rose at the end, desperation coloring his words.

“Dean?” Cas’ quiet rocking stopped. He still didn’t look at Sam.  
“You save Dean,” Sam repeated more softly.  
“I save Dean.” Cas was staring off into the distance blankly.  
“Dean’s in trouble. We have to find him.”  
“I save Dean.”  
“Cas, you’re seeing things that aren’t there. I need you to push through it. We need to find Dean.”  
“Find Dean.” Cas finally looked at Sam, eyes wide and frightened but more lucid. “Is that… is that you, Sam?”  
“Yeah, Cas. It’s me. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real. I’m just me.”

XOXOX

Brad knocked softly on the door before entering. Honest to god knocked. Dean chuckled.  
“Hey there, champ.”  
“Hey.” Brad sounded slightly breathless. “I just meant to ask if you guys needed anything?”  
“You do know that we’re held captive and not guests at a fancy hotel, right?” Caitlin softened the words with a smile when Brad flinched at her snappish tone.  
“I know. Two more hours,” Brad all but whispered. Dean clenched his fists but Caitlin nodded calmly.  
“You won’t let them hurt us, will you?” She looked up at Brad, trust in her eyes.

He averted his eyes. “I can’t help you, Sarah. I’m really sorry.”  
“Why not?” Dean raised his head higher and Brad blushed under his scrutiny.  
“They’re family.” Brad’s words were almost inaudible.   
Dean made a sad lopsided smile. “Family don’t end in blood,” he muttered to himself.   
Caitlin gasped. She’d been too worried, too focused on saving Dean to spare his brother any thought. “Where’s Sam?”

Her words were hopeful, expectant. Dean let himself fall back on the pillow and closed his eyes. His heart skipped a couple of beats and went into overdrive. _Sam_. Sam wasn’t at Stanford with Jess. Jess was dead. Sam was … gone. If it had been agonizing to leave Sam at the hospital, it had been worse than hell to hear that detached voice on the phone. Now, the pain hit Dean all over again, somehow ten times harder.  
“Why did you save me?” Dean barely recognized his own voice. “Why didn’t you let me die?” He was wrecked and wretched, angry and miserable. His chest hurt and his eyes swam. He was floating through blinding lights headed towards darkness.

Caitlin watched Dean tailspin out of control, felt his pulse quicken until her first impulse was to scream for a crash cart. Then it stopped. Dean’s heart had stopped. Her own pulse racing, she punched his sternum with the back of her fist and felt his carotid for any change.  
“Dean, goddammit!” She banged her fist into his chest again. “You don’t get to chicken out on me, asshole.”   
Just as she was about to start compressions for real, there was a flutter under her fingers. His chest rose as he drew in air and she stared at the motion, transfixed. 

Brad met her tear streaked gaze when she finally looked up.  
“I’ll try to get you some more time.”

XOXOX

Sam looked around in the tiny cabin where Cas had brought them in the blink of an eye. It had been a trap alright. It hadn’t gone off as planned, though. But there was real blood among the black goo. They couldn’t find the heads anywhere so Sam walked the perimeter, looking for tracks. He found the trail of Dean’s surplus army boots, noted that there were dried blood droplets here and there. It didn’t take long to find where Dean had been parked. The place provided no clues as to where he had gone from there.

Sam ended up hotwiring the car the Leviathans had hidden close by. Cas was still a mess, talking to himself and people that weren’t there. It took awhile for Sam to coax him into the passenger seat. He headed for the nearest ER to ask around, though knowing Dean, he had probably gone to a motel to patch himself up instead.

It was only a glint of sun on metal that alerted him to the car’s existence. Sam pulled over and went closer to look. A black car lay upside down in the ditch. As Sam etched closer he read the plates and felt ice cold dread in his stomach. He ran forward, stumbled down the slope. He didn’t breathe until he could finally see the inside of the vehicle, empty. Worry returned at a closer inspection. There was a lot of blood in the driver’s seat. Bobby’s old flask, Dean’s jacket and cell lay scattered on the ceiling. Further inspection turned up a clip for Dean’s Colt and the trunk was inaccessible.

Sam spent half an hour convincing Cas to get out of the car and lift the old Ford so he could empty the trunk of incriminating objects. Then they drove on cautiously, Sam’s eyes scanning for signs of Dean’s whereabouts. He was about to turn around, sure Dean couldn’t have gotten this far wounded and on foot, when he spotted a driveway. He drove all the way up to the house at the end, eager to ask if they knew anything about Dean. There were no cars visible and Sam hesitated briefly, before knocking. Maybe someone was home anyway.

XOXOX

“Dad, I was there. The guy’s heart _stopped_. You gotta give Sarah another day.”  
“So this isn’t about you ditching our team?” It was Cody that got into Brad’s face. “Just because you like dicks, you can’t let the real men have some fun?”  
Brad blushed furiously and stepped backwards. Cody pushed him, pulled at him, until he was pinned against a wall. “What is it, Brad? Girls sticking together?”  
Brad stared at his brother, red faced and gulping air.

There was a knock on the front door. Cody gave a final push before letting go and following Saul. Brad simply stepped away from the wall enough that he could see. Saul grabbed his old Glock from a shelf and opened the door. It revealed a tall broad shouldered man with chin length brown hair.   
The stranger’s eyes seemed to widen as if in recognition, before he frowned.  
“Where?” The man must be close to Cody’s age. The single word he had spoken, had that distinct tone of command that Brad had always associated with his older brother. 

“Where what?” Saul uncocked the safety on his gun.   
The stranger seemed unconcerned. “Where’s your step daughter?”   
Saul grimaced and almost pulled the trigger before the gun flew from his hand. He stared at his empty hand in bewilderment. The stranger’s expression mirrored Saul’s but surprise didn’t stop him from driving his fist into Saul’s jaw with a mean uppercut. Saul toppled backwards, out cold.

Cody moved to shield his father’s limp body as the stranger took out a gun on his own. To Brad, everything moved in slow motion from the instant his brother’s life was on the line. Cody opened his mouth, eyes glinting with rage and Brad spoke before his brother could forfeit his life with spiteful curses.  
“Wait! I’ll show you. Just don’t hurt my family.” Brad could feel Cody’s eyes on him, scornful and promising punishment. 

The stranger exploited the distraction and deftly hit Cody above the ear with the butt of his gun. Cody’s eyes rolled back as he collapsed in on himself. Brad ran to Cody, oblivious of the stranger keeping his gun trained at him. 

He patted Cody’s cheek, murmuring apologies, begging him to respond. He felt Cody’s warm breath against his hand, and exhaled with relief. Brad looked up at the stranger with his eyes narrowed in anger.  
“I told you not to hurt them.”  
“And now he won’t force me to,” came the soft answer. Then he shouted over his shoulder: “Cas, get in here.”

Another man, older and shorter, with messy dark hair and striking blue eyes, entered hesitantly.  
“Sam?”  
“I need you to make sure these two don’t move. Don’t kill them.” Sam tucked his gun away and caught Brad’s arm above the elbow. “Come on, Brutus. Lead the way.”

Brad smoothed a few stray hairs from Cody’s closed eyes and got to his feet sullenly.   
“There’s a guy with her. He’s hurt. You might want to let me go in first and give them a heads up,” Brad found himself saying. 

Sam’s grip on his arm tightened painfully. “Why?”  
“Sarah asked him where Sam was just fifteen minutes ago and he freaked. I’m guessing you’re the Sam she meant.”  
“What do you mean, he freaked?” Sam’s eyes widened.   
“Like, his heart stopped beating, freaked. Sarah got him ticking again real quick, though.”

Sam gulped and frowned. “How badly is he hurt?”  
“He lost a lot of blood. Sarah thought he was stabilized but something riled him up, alright.” Brad looked up at Sam, who in turn looked like he was about to either murder someone or cry.  
“Is he your boyfriend? We thought he was Sarah’s but they kept saying no.”  
Sam gave a startled laugh. “He’s my brother.”  
Brad’s eyes widened a fraction before he smiled sadly. “He’s lucky his big brother has his back.”  
Sam gave him a strange look, before finally speaking. “He’s the oldest. And we have each other's backs. Let’s go get them. I’ll be right behind you.”

XOXOX

Caitlin looked up sharply when Brad opened the door. Dean barely opened half an eye. Brad looked at him nervously.  
“Seems like you’ve been rescued.”  
That had Dean perking up, both eyes opening and the muscles in his neck straining to lift his head. Brad barely glanced at Caitlin and kept eye contact with Dean when he continued: “Your brother is here.”  
Dean gasped, as if in pain. His lips thinned before he spoke hollowly. “My brother is dead.”

Sam stepped into view with a lopsided smile. “Am not.”  
“Sam!” Caitlin jumped to her feet and threw her arms around his neck. “Thank God, you’re okay.”  
Sam grinned impishly, his cheeks blushing scarlet. “Not thanks to God exactly.” He gave Dean a meaningful look. Then he turned his eyes to the ceiling and cleared his throat. “Um, Caitlin?”  
“What is it?”  
“Why are you naked?”

Caitlin scrambled for a blanket, blushing wildly as well. She accidentally bared Dean in the process, causing Sam to yelp and turn his back. Brad soon mirrored the blush on Sam’s and Caitlin’s faces. Dean laughed loudly until it turned into a coughing fit and he cursed at the pain and discomfort.


	45. Reunion

Caitlin had wrapped herself in a blanket and Dean was once again covered up from his neck to his toes. Sam was still flustered when he spoke again. “I guess I should get you guys some clothes and release Cas from guard dut…”  
“Cas?!” Dean’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Seriously?”  
Sam nodded and smiled. “Yeah. He’s not all there at the moment, but I think he’ll get better.”  
“What is this? Coming back from the dead day?” Dean grinned almost manically.  
“Technically only Cas did that. He got to me before it was too late.”  
Dean shook his head disbelievingly. It was a small movement, his body still worn out. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled.

Caitlin hugged the blanket even tighter to her body. “Who’s Cas?”  
Sam glanced over at his brother, letting him know that he was getting on with business and leaving that particular conversation to him. He grabbed Brad’s shoulder and pulled him outside.  
“You’re gonna help me find something to tie you guys up with,” he told the young man.  
Brad nodded resignedly.   
From the room behind them, Caitlin’s voice could be heard. “An _ANGEL_?”

Sam led Brad back to where Cody and Saul were sprawled on the floor.   
Cas sat next to the two unconscious men, singing quietly to himself. Brad pointed Sam towards Cody’s room, and soon he found himself tied up next to his family, all three of them shuffled off to the side of the hallway. Cas hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor.

Sam crouched down next to Cas. “I found Dean.”  
Cas got quickly to his feet. Sam stopped him from walking further into the house.  
“Let’s just grab his stuff in the car.”  
Cas tilted his head in an unspoken question.  
“They’re naked,” Sam said with a sigh.  
Cas only appeared more nonplussed but followed Sam dutifully to the car.

Caitlin kept staring at Dean, her thoughts racing everywhere at once. They were saved. They were safe. The horror she had been bracing herself against for the last day wouldn’t come to pass. She was free again. Dean would be okay. They could take him to the hospital now. 

Sam appeared back in the doorway with Dean’s duffel. He set it down and ruffled carelessly through it.  
“Hey, Bitch! Watch my stuff.”   
“Yeah yeah. Love you too, Jerk.” Sam grinned but didn’t look up.   
Dean smiled softly to himself. 

Sam handed Caitlin a pair of sweats, a T-shirt and a plaid shirt. Then he closed his eyes and held his arms up and to each side. “I’ll hold the blanket while you get dressed.”  
“What about me?” Dean complained.   
Sam kept his eyes closed and didn’t move the blanket but his expression changed to one of amusement. “Won’t getting dressed be easier after Cas gets his hands on you?”  
Dean made a disgruntled yet affirmative noise. Caitlin pulled the T-shirt over her head and frowned. “Dean? Is there something I should know about you and that Cas-person?”  
“Huh?”  
“I mean, since you want his hands on you rather than your clothes…”  
Sam shook with laughter and ended up dropping the, by now unnecessary, blanket. Dean merely scowled at them both.

“Watch this,” Sam said to Caitlin and left the room. He returned a few minutes later, angel in tow.   
Cas went straight to his knees next to Dean. “Dean. You are injured.”  
Dean’s face was weirdly expressionless. “Cas. I really thought you were dead, man.”  
Cas reached out to touch Dean’s forehead gently. Caitlin watched in amazement as Dean instantly turned a much healthier color, the cuts and bruises on his face simply gone. He sat up, his blanket pooling over his lap, and ripped off the bandage over his shoulder. Caitlin squeaked in protest until she saw that the wound had disappeared completely. Dean glanced up at her, smirking, when her voice abruptly cut off. He grabbed a shirt from the duffel bag and pulled it over his head. “A little privacy, maybe?” 

Sam ushered Cas outside and Caitlin followed them. She eyed the angel curiously. His eyes were a rare blue color but other than that he looked… ordinary. If she hadn’t just witnessed a miracle, she would have maintained that Dean was delusional. 

“This place,” Cas said then, “is not a good place, Sam. It was built with the bones of the hopeless and paid for with the blood of the terrified.”  
Sam sighed. “It’s okay, Cas. It’s not that bad. Remember, it’s not real.”  
Cas’ shoulders slumped. “I don’t know, Sam. Maybe it is true. It makes sense. Why bother with illusions when real horrors exist in abundance?”

Dean walked up to them, exaggerating his usual bowlegged swagger a little to show his satisfaction with being back on his feet. “There you are. Now where’s the damned Brady Bunch?”

Half an hour later, Brad, Saul, and Cody were tied up in the tiny room Caitlin had been locked up in for the past week. They were all awake now, Cody and his father barely containing their rage. Brad sat quietly next to them, studying the concrete floor intently.

“What do you want us to do with them?” Sam towered in the doorway, acting as a barrier between the men on the floor and Caitlin.  
“I guess we should call Derek? I mean, they're wanted now, aren't they?” Caitlin shivered and wrapped the plaid shirt tighter around herself. It didn’t help.  
"Sure, if that's what you want." Sam looked a little dubious.

“Caitie are you really going to waste your time in a courtroom, talking about all the shitty crap they’ve pulled on you to strangers, just so they can get locked up and take it up the ass a decade or two?” Dean sent a scowl between his brother’s shoulder and the doorway. 

“What do you want me to say, Dean? I mean, what’s the alternative? Leave them? Let them get another chance at me? Or at someone else, maybe. Someone no one else will know about and try to save?” Caitlin’s breaths were coming rapidly and she swayed slightly.

Dean brought her into a tight hug. “Breathe with me.”  
When Caitlin settled down some, Dean rubbed her back and drew back a little to look her in the eyes. “You don’t have to put yourself through all that. I don’t care that they’re human. Not after what they’ve done to you. I’ll make sure you don’t have to worry about them ever again.”

Caitlin gasped and pushed him away. "You’d kill them? Do you want to be like them? Dean, what is wrong with you?"  
Dean narrowed his eyes. “I don’t want to be like them. And I’m not. I’m not!” He drew in a shaky breath and visibly relaxed his shoulders. “I’m just trying to look out for you, kiddo.”

Caitlin’s eyebrows rose. “Kiddo? That’s what you think of me?”

"Are you going to give me another telling off for using a simple nickname?" Dean stepped into her space, tense and frowny. 

A hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Dean.” Cas stood there, looking between them.   
Dean stepped back and couldn’t quite meet the angel’s intense gaze.   
Cas swallowed visibly. “I feel very uncomfortable. If you want me to smite someone, I will do so. As long as it means we can leave.” 

Dean looked at their prisoners, then back to Caitlin. “How about that, Caitie? Let an angel of the Lord pass the judgment.”  
Sam sucked in air as if to speak, but Dean held up a hand to silence him.  
“What does that mean?” She shifted uncertainly where she stood.  
“It means instant death,” Sam said. He cast a withering look at Dean. “It means burning eyeballs and boiling brains. And if Cas wasn’t half out of his mind he would never have suggested it.”  
Caitlin walked backward, eyes wide and mouth open until her back hit a wall. She shook her head violently.

Dean kept his eyes on Cas, his eyebrows knitting together, then raising in an unspoken question. “Cas?” The name was a husky whisper.  
Cas held himself rigid but kept his eyes on a spot three inches above Dean’s face. “I’m sorry.”  
Dean frowned. “What are you talking about?” Then he blinked, only to find the angel gone. “Son of a bitch! Cas! Get back here!”  
“Dean.” Sam paused when Dean stopped to listen and sighed sadly. “I think we should leave him alone. Give him some time.”  
“What’s wrong with him?”  
“Me.”


	46. Duty Bound

Caitlin walked over to Sam, put a hand on his chest and gently pushed him away from the door. She closed it with a last glance at the three captive men on the floor and their wild eyed expressions of shock. She probably looked the same. Cas, an actual angel, had just vanished into thin air. That was the sort of party trick that overshadowed healing bullet wounds and threatening to smite people.

Caitlin walked down the hall and straight out the door, breathing in deep and blinking her eyes against the bright light of day. Behind her, the brothers shuffled closer with awkward, hesitant steps. 

Dean followed Caitlin, unwilling to let her go too far on her own. But his attention was fixed on Sam. “What did you mean, you’re what’s wrong with Cas?”  
Sam’s shoulders sagged. “He couldn’t fix the wall.”  
Dean opened his mouth to ask what that was supposed to mean.  
“He couldn’t seal my memories of the cage away again, so he took them. Or, not the memories, that wasn’t possible, he said. Just the pain.”

Dean couldn’t tear his gaze away from his little brother. Sam had been hallucinating since his memories returned, sure. But until last week, he had been… normal. Had been Sammy, empathetic to witnesses and badass fighting monsters. 

So Cas had taken away the pain that caused the hallucinations and now, Cas was messed up? A freaking millennia old angel! Dean felt the impact of what kind of horror Sam had carried around bottled up inside him, as a punch to the gut. He growled low in his throat with sudden anger. All this time, Sam had carried this weight, because Cas had wanted to play God.

“He’ll get better, I’m sure. Which you weren’t. He was the one who broke the wall in the first place. Let him pay his dues.” Dean’s voice was cold with barely contained fury.  
Sam’s eyes widened in surprise at Dean’s reaction. He lowered his gaze and stayed silent.

Caitlin was standing just outside the front door, head turned towards the sky.  
“You okay?” Dean asked her when it was clear that Sam was done talking for the moment. 

Caitlin held up her hand without turning her head away from the horizon. “Don’t talk to me.” She took another couple of steps, off the porch and down onto the driveway gravel. The little rocks cut up into her bare feet. Her hand flew to the collar around her neck. She sought out the small fence, panic closing up her throat; she was still at least twenty yards from the perimeter. It still burned, like an echo. “Twilight,” she gasped out with a whimper.

Dean’s arm wrapped around her shoulder within seconds. “I’ve got you.”  
He bent down and snuck his other arm behind her legs and scooped her up. “Come on, Caitie.” He carried her back inside and after a moment’s hesitation, he took her to Brad’s room. He put her down carefully on the queen sized bed. Slowly, he took her face between his hands. “You in there, Caitie?”

“I want to go to Hawaii.” Caitlin’s lower lip trembled slightly as she pouted.  
Dean gave a startled laugh. “What?”  
“I want to go to Hawaii and open a frozen yoghurt shop. Like, right now.”  
“Why don’t you open a Tiki bar and I’ll go with you. I’d look dashing mixing cocktails, don’t you think?” Dean hugged her to his chest and stroked the back of her head slowly. “Sam could learn to surf. Work on his tan.”  
Caitlin’s hands came up behind him and fisted into his shirt. “I think… I think I could really use a drink.” 

Dean could feel her warm breath through the fabric of his shirt, tickling one of his nipples. She tilted her head to look at him, and his breath caught. Under the waves of blond hair, her brown eyes were large and shimmering with tears. His eyes slid to her mouth. Her lips were darker than usual, a little shiny with moisture. He lifted his glance again and found her staring at his mouth. 

Distant yelling and screaming erupted from down the hall. Sam hurriedly threw open the door to find Saul shouting for help, straining against his bonds. Cody was free, his hands around Brad’s neck, squeezing. Sam yanked Cody away and Brad gasped for breath.  
“I’ll kill you! Fucking fag!” Cody screamed at his brother and fought against Sam’s hold. 

Sam got hold of both Cody’s wrists and pinned them high behind his back. Cody whimpered at the pain and Sam smiled grimly. He looked down at Brad, who was still breathing hard, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You okay?”  
Brad nodded, keeping his eyes on the floor.

Dean peeked through the doorway, eyebrows raised in surprise. “So you’re not just crazy about tying knots, sicko. You get out of them too.”  
Cody simply sneered at him. Sam gave Dean a look.  
“In the trunk?” Dean didn’t need Sam to ask him to get handcuffs. Sam nodded and Dean left, passing Caitlin in the hallway. She stood a ways back, all she could see through the doorway was Sam’s back.  
“What was it?” Her words came out shaky.  
“That bondage freak got free. We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Carrying handcuffs, and a few extra coils of rope, Dean put a reassuring hand on the small of Caitlin’s back as he walked past her. Just a fleeting touch, innocent but intimate. Caitlin shivered as he disappeared into the small grey room. 

Dean snapped the cuffs around Cody’s wrists and tugged at them none too gently. Cody stubbornly kept silent, though he breathed in sharply.  
“You’re not the only one who can tie a granny knot, smartass.” Dean smiled wolfishly and started tying ropes around Cody’s shoulders, biceps and forearms. He kept the ropes taut and topped his work off with tying some wire around Cody’s fingers. 

Dean stepped back with a satisfied smirk. “Good luck getting out of that.”  
Cody twisted around and spat in Dean’s face. “Fucking asshole.”  
Dean carefully wiped the spit from his face and dried his hand on Cody’s t-shirt. His expression never changed but his eyes were lit up by cold fury. “Keep it up, Sonny. I hear karma’s a real bitch.”

Sam stayed to prevent more trouble. Dean washed up and returned to find Caitlin back in Brad’s room.  
“We need to figure out what to do with them.” He sat down next to her on the bed.  
“Let the police handle it.” She sighed and closed her eyes. Dean wrapped an arm around her shoulders and started to speak but Caitlin stopped him, a finger on his lips.  
“I don’t care about your feelings and thirst for revenge. Your macho protectiveness aside, this is something I should have done ten years ago.”  
“You gotta be kiddin’ me. You were what? Eighteen? Did you even graduate from high school before you ran away?”

Caitlin turned her face from him, shaking her head.  
“I was sixteen. I just wanted to be free, to be my own person. Sometimes I couldn’t fit inside my body, I hated it so much. Hated everything. All I had was this dream that someday I’d be a doctor and I’d save people. Save mothers from dying and their daughters from being left with monsters.” Her voice trailed off in a whisper. “But now I see how silly that was.”

Dean made a small sound of disbelief. “Caitie, that was fucking brave. You really have no idea how strong and smart and amazin’ you are, do you?”  
She looked back at him, lips turning upward in a sly little smile. “I have an inkling.” She sighed. “But I was still stupid. Going at it the wrong way.”  
Dean gazed at her steadily, question in his eyes.  
“My story isn’t that rare, sadly. But the details vary. Treating cancer is not the most effective way to help others. Telling my story and pressing charges, bringing the bastards to justice and standing tall… That’s what I should have done. I hope it’s not too late.”

“I get what you’re saying, but Caitie, that’s a lot to take on. You don’t have to. Seriously, all you should be focusing on is surviving and gettin’ back on your feet.”

Caitlin regarded him silently, contemplating her next words. “Why do you feel like you have to spend your life saving people you don’t know? You killed the demon that started it all, didn’t you? Justice was served. But you still live off the grid, squatting, hustling pool, just so you can get busted up fighting monsters every other night. You don’t have to, you know?” Caitlin wore a lopsided sad smile.

Dean’s shoulders tensed and he pinched his lips tightly. After a long exhale, he answered in a somewhat raspy voice. “Someone has to. And maybe… maybe revenge isn’t without casualties. Maybe me ‘n Sam are still trying to settle our debts.”

Caitlin reached across his lap to take his other hand. She ran her index finger over his palm and fingers. “Who decides when enough is enough?”

Dean swallowed and clenched his jaw. “It’s never going to be enough.”

Caitlin squeezed his hand and let go. She pushed lightly at his chest until he let himself fall backward on the bed, a puzzled look on his face. She climbed over him until she straddled him, her weight resting across his hips. She leaned forward, her hands pressing his shoulders into the mattress until her face hovered a few inches above his.

“I know,” she whispered. She closed the distance between them. It wasn’t really a kiss since neither of them moved. Their lips touched and they breathed each other’s air. Slowly, Dean raised his hands to her face, stroking her cheeks, brushing hair behind her ears, caressing her forehead, following the line of her nose.

“What are we doing?” His words were spoken directly into her mouth, his voice rougher than usual. Her fingers curled and dug into his shoulders.

“More than just surviving. It’s about time, right?” She increased the pressure on his lips, trapping his lower lip, questioningly running her tongue lightly across it.

“Mmh.” Dean closed his eyes and held her still. He angled himself so he could nip at her lips and coax her tongue into his mouth. He sucked at it lightly and smiled at the small gasp she made. 

He lowered his hands, skating down her shoulders, tickling her arms, reaching down to rest on her hips. She withdrew her tongue slowly, swirling it over his lips, leaving her mouth open in invitation. He slid his hands inside her t-shirt, his fingertips gliding over the smooth skin on her back, feeling her muscles work. 

She hummed in welcome when his tongue pushed past her lips and he licked behind her teeth, swirled around her tongue slowly. He drew back and covered her mouth with soft kisses, pressing her body against his with his hands on her shoulder blades. He bucked his hips and felt her freeze up when the bulge of his hard cock touched her. Then she ground down against it, and he grunted with pleasure from the unexpected friction.

“Shit, Caitie,” he breathed. He freed his hands and pushed at her shoulders lightly until she sat upright. She smiled and continued to move her hips, barely, just a teasing sensation. “Fuck.”

“Later, I hope.” She smiled mischievously, her pupils dilated, her muscles lax. 

“Yeah, later.” Dean looked at her in wonder. “That more than surviving thing might be about time but I’m not so sure now is the right time. We should finish things up here.”

Caitlin pouted. “The great Dean Winchester, saying no to sex.”

“I’m saying no to facing your dickwad family with cum stains on my pants, Sugar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to thank all of you who read this far. Thank you for joining me on this crazy journey.
> 
> Personally, I don't mind when writers of free stories ask readers to comment or even "shower them with love". However, I'm not really good at asking for such things myself. But honestly, I could use some. It's been dreadfully quiet here for some weeks while I've published chapter after chapter. This month has been tough for me on many levels. 
> 
> You don't have to do anything. I'm six chapters away from finishing this monster and nothing could make me abandon it now. But if this story has moved you in any way and you have a little time to spare, any comments would really, really make my day(s). I also love receiving constructive criticism - which in my experience takes more than a little spare time to offer, so not only will it give me a chance to improve, it would also mean someone put _effort_ into helping me improve. Seriously, constructive criticism is the best!
> 
> Okay, rants over. Thank you once again simply for reading. That's what really matters.


	47. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, come on. You didn't really think it'd be _that_ easy, did you?

Sam watched the sullen prisoners. The fear, anger, and impatience emanated from them in rolling waves, higher and higher as time passed and nothing happened. At last, Dean opened the door and motioned to Sam for a switch. 

Caitlin was standing in the doorway to Brad’s room, hugging herself.  
“Hey. How are you doing?” Sam walked up to her and let her lead him into the room.   
She smiled tremulously as she sat down in the only chair in the room. “I feel terrified. But I think I’m ready to… you know. I mean, I have to be.”  
“Exactly what are you thinking here?”  
Caitlin frowned, unsure.   
When she didn’t speak, Sam elaborated. “You can let the police have them for kidnapping you this time. Derek and I discussed it after you were taken. You wouldn’t have to deal with more than them holding you captive to get them sent away for another decade. Maybe two.”

Caitlin bit her thumb, thinking. “It sounds so reasonable. Almost doable. Tempting.”  
Sam smiled softly. “But?”  
“It’s not enough. It’s… half-baked, somehow.” She lifted her feet to rest on the edge of the chair and hugged her curled up legs and rested her chin on her knees. “I don’t know, Sam. I can’t really explain it. Right now, I don’t know what happens tomorrow. Do I go back to Seattle, try to get my lease on the new apartment back? Maybe I can get extra hours over the summer and still finish my residency. I could go somewhere else, start over. Or maybe… I think I’d like to travel some more. Go with you and Dean, help with research and backup.”

Sam was shaking his head in horror at her last words. “No, don’t. We want you to be safe. You’ve had enough trouble because of us.”  
Caitlin bowed her head. “I don’t know what else to do. Who am I even supposed to be, now? Caitlin Smith or Sarah Stevenson? Aspiring doctor or-or… a victim and a… witness.” It was hard to breathe through the words. She wiped her tears, rubbing her cheeks against her knees and forced long deep breaths through her nose.

“You’re you.” Sam leaned forward, eyes boring into Caitlin’s. “You’re the sum of everything they did to you and everything you became after you left. You take it all and use it, you become the best version of yourself you can be, achieve all the dreams you can. You’re you.”

Caitlin returned his gaze. The silence stretched between them, natural and comfortable.   
Sam ran a finger along the scar in his palm. If this had happened two days ago, Lucifer would have been here, all too happy to remind Sam of being trapped and hurt and…

“What are your dreams?” Caitlin’s sudden question made him jolt.  
“Nightmares, mostly,” Sam replied followed by a soft huff of air, the ghost of a chuckle.  
“Why aren’t you allowed to have dreams and go for them like everyone else?”  
Sam smiled softly again, barely meeting her eyes. “I’ll call Derek and set things up. If you’re sure?”  
Caitlin raised one eyebrow a fraction at his deflection. Then she nodded and swallowed. “Say hi.”

Sam went to the gray room. “Dean? We’re calling in the feds. Can I use your phone?”  
Dean gave Sam a confused look. “I lost it.”  
“I know. I brought it, I charged it. I don’t have my own.”  
Dean waved at him to go ahead and Sam left.  
Cody smirked up at Dean. “Go ahead and call the goody two shoes. They can’t keep us.”  
“What makes you say that, dickwad?” Dean’s fingers itched with the need to just shoot the fucker.  
“You’re wanted. It’ll be her word against ours. No one is going to believe sad little Sarah.”

Dean bent down and gripped the front of Cody’s shirt tight. He dragged him to a standing position against the wall and pushed him up high until his feet barely touched the ground. Cody struggled to breathe and managed only enough air to stay conscious. Dean clenched his jaw and swallowed against the rage inside him.

“Listen up, you little, useless lump of toxic waste. You’re all gonna plead guilty. You’re all gonna tell the nice blue men exactly what you’ve done. You’re gonna tell them ‘bout every time she said no and you didn’t stop, every time she begged you to leave her alone, and you took her anyway.” Dean brought his face closer to Brad’s. “You’re gonna let them _judge_ you. And you’re gonna _pray_ they judge you harshly. Because if _their_ sentence don’t measure up… I’ll find you. And you don’t want _me_ carving her pain out of your flesh.”

Dean let go and stepped away abruptly.   
Cody crumbled in a heap and breathed hard before speaking again. “Threatening us won’t help your case. That’s coercion.”  
Dean smiled grimly. “But it’s your word against mine.” He bent down and grabbed Cody’s hair, forcing his head back. His last words were spoken too low for anyone but Cody to hear. “Until I come for you.” 

Dean let his index finger glide smoothly across Cody’s neck, mimicking how he would love to slice his throat open. Cody’s Adam's apple jumped against the touch and Dean’s wolfish smile widened. “You know it’s true, don’t you? You wouldn’t be the first monster I’ve killed. Nor the first one I take my time with.”

Cody opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly stupid. 

He was interrupted by Brad. “Cody just shut up, for God’s sake. He’ll kill you.” Brad’s eyes burned into Dean’s when he continued. “He’s clearly a complete psychopath. Probably worse than you, big brother.”

Cody snorted with derision. “Getting all hot and bothered, Brat?” He enunciated the t clearly. “Want the new alpha male to strip you and pound your ass while you’re tied up and can’t do anything but just take it?”

Brad pinched his lips together and closed his eyes, his face glowing red. 

Dean looked between the two of them with wide eyes. “Okay, that’s it,” he growled and pulled one of Cody’s socks off. He stuffed it into Cody’s mouth and tied it in place. “You might _think_ you’re the douchiest douche to ever douche, hotshot. But you’re just the easiest douche to get rid of.” Dean smiled, satisfied with Cody’s angry but now unintelligible noises. “Now I won’t accidentally kill you for being dumber than snot.”

Sam stood in the hallway, scrolling through Dean’s contacts until he hit jackpot. Of course, Dean had Derek listed as “shrink cop”. The call was answered after the second beep.   
“Morgan speaking.”  
“Hey. You wrap up that case in California yet?”  
“Sam?”  
“Yeah. We found her.”  
“The Mitchells?”  
“Dean would make a joke about them being too tied up to talk right now.”  
Derek laughed. “I’m sure he would.”  
Sam gave him the address. “Don’t wait too long. One of them’s a regular Houdini.” As an afterthought, he added: “And maybe do some serious background check on the house. There might be something fishy about it.”  
Derek sighed. “Sam, that’s weaker than see-through coffee. What should we be looking for?”  
“I dunno. Who built it and where the money came from, maybe.”  
Another sigh. “I’ll ask Garcia to dig deep.”

Sam opened the door as Dean straightened up. Cody’s angry spluttering behind the gag made him glance curiously at Dean, who simply shrugged.   
Sam blinked twice before speaking. “So get this. The cavalry will be here in a few hours but Derek’s team won’t be here until sometime tomorrow.”  
Dean frowned. “Then Caitlin’s coming with us until they get here.”  
Sam nodded his assent. “Let’s see if we can grab some cash and get an actual motel for the night, then.”

Dean gave Sam a curt nod and bent down to dig into Saul’s back pocket. The heavy set man tried to squirm away but kept his mouth shut. He glared daggers, though, as Dean produced his wallet and whooped when he opened it. Dean counted seven hundred dollar bills, whistling. “Now, I don’t usually steal from civilians, so let’s call this a loan, shall we?”  
Saul sulked and shrugged. “Not like I can stop you.”  
Dean chuckled humorlessly. “You’re right. As helpless as a babe. Or a kid.” His voice took on a dangerous note and Saul flinched. “How do I take the collar off her?”   
Saul pressed his lips together, looking torn. Finally, he spoke: “There’s a master bedroom when you go through the living room. The key is on the nightstand to the right.”  
Dean patted Saul’s cheek condescendingly. “Thank you, pops. I hope they tear you apart in prison.” Dean gave him a wide, fake cheerful smile before leaving.

The key was there and Dean hurried back to Brad’s room where Caitlin still sat in the chair, lost in thought. He rapped the door frame twice before entering and she looked up, half startled, half relieved.  
“Hey. Ready to get that thing off your neck?”  
She stood and took a long shaky breath. “You’ve got the key?”  
Dean nodded and opened his palm to show her. She turned her back to him and lifted her hair out of the way. He stooped down and turned the collar with care until the keyhole was visible. His light touches on her skin made her shiver. 

The key slid into the lock easily and when Dean turned it, the collar snapped open. He tested the flexibility of it, opening it wide enough to slide it off Caitlin’s neck. His hands were caught under hers where she held her hair and he leaned closer as he held it up for her to see. Caitlin shivered again, Dean’s breath ruffling the short hairs at the nape of her neck. One of his hands let go of the collar and slid out from the confinement of her arm; then the fabric of his shirt tickled her armpit, as he reached around her to toss the collar into a corner. She let her hair fall down slowly, leaning back against him. Instinctively, he took a small step forward, completely entering her space. 

“Dean.” It was barely a whisper. His gravity pulled her in, she rested against his chest, felt his arms wrap around her and his body mold to hers. He dipped his chin to the top of her head, surrounding her with his warmth and the smell of safety.  
“I got you.” He used his arms around her waist to pull her even closer. She relaxed into him and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Want you.” Caitlin reached up behind her and let her fingers run through Dean’s short hair.   
Dean froze. “What?”  
“I want you. I want to take back what they took from me. I want to be with you.” She ran her fingers over his face, then, when he didn’t move or speak, she slowly lowered them and turned around. He loosened his hold on her enough to allow the movement but didn’t let go. She put a hand over his heart and met his eyes. “I trust you.”  
Tensing up, Dean let go of her and stepped back. “You shouldn’t.”

Sam appeared in the doorway. “Guys, it’s getting late. We should go.”  
Dean nodded and briskly turned to leave.   
Caitlin caught his wrist with a soft touch. “Please?”  
He pulled his hand back slowly, scowling. Then he closed his eyes briefly and sighed wearily. “Let’s talk later, okay?”


	48. Progress

When Dean got behind the wheel of the Leviathans’ car, he made a disgusted sound. “If anyone doubted they were evil, just look at this. A goddamned Honda with manual. Nefarious fuckers.”

Sam chuckled as he put on his seatbelt. “It still runs, though.” He turned serious and reproving. “Unlike the car you wrecked, driving when you should have called an ambulance, dude.”

Dean’s hands clenched around the wheel. Pinched lips turned to a fake pout in record time. “There was a raccoon on the road,” came the flippant reply.

Sam snorted and leaned back. He threw a glance at Caitlin in the backseat. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” She smiled as an afterthought, there and gone again.

“Caitlin…” Dean began.

She interrupted him. “Don’t.”

Dean snapped his mouth shut again, annoyed.

Sam looked between the two of them and shrugged. If Lucifer had still been there, he would definitely have commented on why they didn’t just fuck already. If only it were that simple.

The motel was skeevy but cheap. Reluctantly, Dean booked a single and a double room. Caitlin and Sam were waiting by the car. Dean’s steps slowed more and more the closer he got. 

“Did you get a room?” Sam read Dean’s reluctance easily.

“Two.” Dean cleared his throat awkwardly to cover how rough his voice sounded. Sam’s eyebrows shot up in question. 

Caitlin flitted her eyes between them, shrugged and grabbed the plastic bag containing her few spare clothes and the photo album. “Lead the way,” she said in a tight voice.

Standing in front of the two neighboring rooms, Dean took one look at Caitlin’s carefully blank expression and sighed. He handed Sam the keycard to the single room with an imperceptible shrug. Then he opened the double and sighed again. He’d asked for a room with two queens next to a single room. What they’d gotten was a room with a goddamned king.

The instant the door closed behind them, Caitlin crossed her arms and glared at Dean. 

He shrugged. “I asked for two queens. You can take the single room if it bothers you.” He tossed his duffel next to the bed, turning his back to her.

“I don’t know, Dean. Do I bother you?” Her words were quiet, not angry and only her rigid posture warned him to tread carefully.

“Of course not.” Dean made an abortive hand gesture. “Caitlin, I don’t know what you want from me.” 

“And I don’t know what you want from me.” She motioned her hand to encompass the entire motel room.

“Nothing. I mean… I want you to be safe. I want you to have everything you dream about. But I’m not… You don’t want _me_ , you really don’t.” 

Caitlin laughed, a cold unamused sound. “Dean I didn’t ask you to marry me. I wanted to have sex with you.”

He glared at her, equally unamused. “That’s what I thought you did. But it’s not… I _know_ you.”

She stared at him, hurt and surprised. “I thought you did, yes.”

Dean opened and closed his mouth. His eyes stayed glued to hers, to her straight nose and full lips, the soft curve of her cheekbones. “Look,” he finally managed, frantically searching for more words. “I know about two kinds of sex. One night stands and relationship sex. You? Said no to the one night stand back when. And I don’t do relationships.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m sure there’s a fascinating explanation for that but I don’t think it’s relevant. We’re parting ways tomorrow, remember?”

Dean froze, his eyes going wide.

“Dean, tomorrow I’ll be going with Derek. I’ll have to talk to different people about everything that happened to me.” Her voice broke and she inhaled deeply. “There’ll be police and lawyers and real FBI. You and Sam have to stay far away.”

Dean looked stricken, then thoughtful, until his eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Dean…” Caitlin began, but he held up his hand.

“No. Goddammit, Caitlin, why couldn’t you just let me kill them?”

Her eyes widened in horror before she raised her voice. “My choice! It was my choice.”

“Oh, I know.” Dean crossed his arms and glared at her. “And now things are ten times as complicated because there’s a horde of Leviathans out there, and _they all know about **you**_.”

Caitlin shook her head in denial. 

Dean exhaled and crossed the distance between them in a few steps. He gently put a hand on her shoulder. “I said I want you safe. Normally that means far, far away from me but until we stop the Leviathans, you’ll be a target no matter where you’re at. I might as well keep an eye on you.”

Caitlin narrowed her eyes as she felt the weight of his hand, the pull to surrender. “I can take care of myself. I asked you to teach me how to deal with real monsters and you did.”

Dean tilted his head and smirked at her. “Yeah. You’ve got a great track record, Caitie. We’ve only had to rescue you three times in as many weeks. From monsters, I mean. Not counting everything else.”

An angry flush came over Caitlin’s face. “Look who’s talking. Weren’t we all nearly killed because of _your_ one-night stand? I saved your ass from that ghost, too, before we found its bones.” She shook his hand off and stepped even closer, standing on her toes to come almost eye to eye with him. “Didn’t the Leviathans have you and Sam bound and on your knees while they played their sick games with me? Is that one of the times you _saved_ me, Dean?” She was yelling by now. “And what about the Djinn? Did either of you ever mention Djinns to me before one got me?” 

Dean kept his face spitefully impassive, merely clenching his jaw rhythmically. 

Caitlin took a few calming breaths and backed down a few inches. “Plus,” she added in a more normal tone of voice, ”I don’t recall you looking too hot when you showed up yesterday. You may know an angel that can heal you in an instant but he wasn’t around when you were _actually dying_! I was.”

Dean broke eye contact and bowed his head. “Yeah. Thanks.” He rubbed his neck awkwardly. “You’re right. You’re fucking bad-ass. I hate that you’re saddled with us for who knows how long.” He shyly looked up to see a small smile playing at Caitlin’s mouth, and had to swallow against a dryness in his throat. “I’m so fucking scared of losing you.”

Caitlin’s brows knitted in confusion. “You don’t want me near you but you don’t want to lose me?”

Dean reached out to her, gently cupping her cheeks in his hands. “I don’t want you to die. I’m not sure this world deserves you. But you deserve good things, Caitie.” His thumbs made small circles against her skin. “It’s just that people don’t have much in the way of life expectancy ‘round me ‘n Sam.”

Caitlin bit her lower lip and leaned into his touch. “Maybe it’s worth it.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “Maybe the two of you are just so awesome that a person’s quota for being around awesomeness gets spent real quick.”

“Caitlin?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut. Up.”

This time, Dean didn’t wait for Caitlin to close the final gap between them. He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth and shifted his hands to cradle the back of her head. 

She changed the angle until she could kiss him back, little nips and flicks of her tongue. Her arms looped around his neck, weighing him down against her. 

He reached down to cup her ass and tug at her until she wrapped her legs around his hips and let him carry her to the bed.

Caitlin scooted further up, one arm still wrapped around Dean’s neck, pulling him with her. For a few seconds, his full weight trapped her against the mattress until he got up on his elbows. 

He watched her shallow breaths with concern. “You okay?” 

His eyes were hooded and through their clothes, she felt him harden, providing pressure and warmth against her core. The warmth turned to heat that spread quickly through her gut. She nodded and bit her lip. “Shouldn’t we wear fewer clothes?”

Dean grinned and wet his lips before rolling off her and pulling her up to straddle him the way she had back in Brad’s room earlier that same day. “You’re right. Let’s get naked.” 

Caitlin ground down on him, the friction spreading more heat inside her. 

Dean reached up to unbutton the flannel she wore. He moved slowly, his touches against her breasts anything but the coincidence he played them off as. 

Caitlin’s breath hitched at the light brushes against her nipples that were only covered with the flannel and a t-shirt. Dean smirked before moving on to the next button, somehow accomplishing to brush over her nipples again as he popped it open. 

Caitlin almost held her breath as Dean finished unbuttoning her flannel. He pushed it off her shoulders, his every move still slow and gentle, his eyes watching her expression with rapt attention. As the shirt slid down her arms she hurriedly pulled her hands free, turning it inside out. 

She leaned forward and slid her hands under Dean’s shirt, gliding over the soft skin on his stomach. Below his ribs on his right side, she felt the uneven roughness of one of his scars and traced it with her index finger. She kept her touch light and gripped him tighter with her legs in anticipation. She sighed disappointedly when he didn’t squirm. “Not ticklish?” 

Dean grimaced. “Not anymore.”

Her smile fell and she pushed her hands down and under him, pulling him up toward her.

Dean groaned in mock annoyance at the exertion as he sat up halfway and met her lips. She opened her mouth to him hungrily and pushed his already unbuttoned shirt over his shoulders. He held out first his right, then his left hand for her to pull the shirt completely off him. She drew back from the kiss to comply, then grabbed the hem of his t-shirt. He raised his arms and let her pull it over his head as he relaxed back onto the bed. 

She attacked the button on his jeans and he caught her wrists. “Your turn, Caitie.” 

Unable to meet his eyes, she shrugged out of her t-shirt and fought the instinct to cover her bare breasts. 

Dean felt her tremble lightly and ran his hands up and down her arms and shoulders. “It’s okay. You’re in control, Caitie. We’re doing what you want, remember?” When she didn’t react to his words, he sat up again and hugged her tightly to him. “You say stop, I stop,” he murmured in her ear.

She drew in a deep, shaky breath. “Don’t stop.” She ran her fingers through his short hair and cradled his head. “I’m in control. I want this.” It was barely more than a whisper. She hugged him closer until his nose touched her collarbone.

Dean nuzzled his nose against her and rubbed her back. He pressed his lips to her skin in a closed mouth kiss, then another, patiently working his way toward a hardened nipple. 

Caitlin gasped when Dean’s lips closed around the sensitive nub, his tongue laving over it repeatedly before he sucked it gently. “I want this,” she repeated with more confidence. “I want you, Dean.”

His reply was turning his soothing hands on her back into a tight hold on her hips, pushing her down against his hard-on and making a hungry humming noise that vibrated around the soft flesh in his mouth.

“Still too much clothing,” Caitlin mumbled in his ear, suddenly too hot despite the slightly cool air around her naked torso.

Sucking hard one last time, he regretfully drew back letting her feel just a hint of his teeth. He smiled at the way she arched into the sensation with a little whimper sounding halfway wanting and halfway disappointed. “I’ll get right on it.” He pushed her sideways down on the bed next to him before standing and shucking off his pants and socks. Then he gave her a pointed look and waited, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his boxers.

Caitlin stared at the outline of Dean’s erection, mesmerized. It took a little while for her to notice that he had stopped moving. She tore her gaze from his crotch to find him watching her with a little, self-satisfied smirk. There was a sparkle of warmth and acceptance in his eyes that set off a rush of butterflies low in her stomach. _This. God, I hope I don’t freak out_. She closed her eyes shortly, before getting off the bed to stand in front of him.

She stood close enough to graze Dean’s thighs with her knuckles as she loosened the waistband on the sweatpants she wore without breaking eye contact. The too big pants fell to the ground and the two small steps it took her to get out of them completely, brought her flush against him. She gently pushed his hands away and pushed down his boxers herself, kneeling down in time with their descent.

Dean’s cock sprang free right in front of her face. For a fraction of a second, she was back in the shabby living room, Cody’s hands pulling her hair. Dean muttered a throaty curse and kept his hands on his back. Apart from his ragged breathing, he stood perfectly still. _I’m in control_.

Caitlin ran her hands over his thighs, over the still red and irritated skin where he must have removed her stitches himself. There were so many other scars. Words from earlier that day echoed in her mind. The almost bashful expression he had worn as he explained why they knew an angel. “Cas showed up for the apocalypse.” Then, at her horrified expression he had hurried to say, “We stopped it.” They had been interrupted right after that. 

Kneeling before Dean, tracing the marks of his violent life a strange reverence came over her. Dean might brag about his pool hustling skills or his car but he would probably never talk about how he and Sam (and an angel, possibly) saved the world.

She tore her eyes from what remained of the gash she had stitched weeks ago and followed his happy trail up to his navel, further raising her gaze to trace the black circular tattoo above his heart, before meeting his eyes. He wore that same shy expression she had recalled only seconds ago as if he had guessed what she was thinking about. 

The corners of Caitlin’s mouth curved upward in a small smile. Dean’s mouth fell open, his breathing still fast. She felt the carpeted floor under her knees, could smell sweat, precome and a hint of the pine soap he must have used before they left … there. 

Dean’s tongue slipped out to wet his lips. He drew in a breath as if to say something, then he exhaled instead. Somewhere, a clock was ticking away the seconds and the silent, frozen tableau they made stayed the same.

Dean fought the urge to squirm under her watchful gaze. She looked at him with something akin to admiration, worship. The way Sam used to look at him when they were just little boys and the four year age difference made Dean a superhero. No one should look at _him_ like that.

He hissed with surprise when she finally, finally put a hand on his cock, her fingers closing gently, too gently around it. He answered the unspoken question in her eyes with a nod. _I’m good. This is good._ He closed his eyes to simply feel.

Caitlin felt Dean relax into her touch as he closed his eyes. She stroked his cock, her fingertips gliding over the smooth, hot skin. She squeezed the hard flesh a little - still nowhere near as hard as Dean undoubtedly longed for her to do - and felt him twitch in her hand. She blew air on his cock head and grinned when Dean shuddered, head to toe. 

Inhaling deeply, she leaned in the final few inches, her heart suddenly hammering inside her chest. She touched her lips to Dean’s silky glans in a light, quick kiss. She looked up again to see him bite his lower lip, eyes tightly shut. She waited breathlessly, the clock ticking several seconds away. Dean didn’t move, didn’t even change his expression. 

She licked tentatively over his slit. Dean made a startled groan ending in a somewhat frustrated growl when she hurriedly backed away, even removing her hand.

Dean reached down to take her hand in his. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” But fuck, she’d been kneeling in front of him and it’d been like in the dream, no, nightmare. He had made himself stand still but all he could think about was grabbing her and make her stop teasing. _She wasn’t teasing me, she was scared. Fuck, what am I doing?_

Caitlin pushed herself off the floor when Dean tugged at her a second time. He made her sit at the edge of the bed, plopping himself down right next to her, an arm reaching around to pull her against his side. _This isn’t about me. Suck it up, D-dog._

“We could just sleep and…”Dean rubbed her arm and fought to get the next words out. “You know… cuddle.” 

She huffed a short laugh at his ability to make the word ‘cuddle’ sound dirty and wrong. “I’m not chickening out. Are you chickening out?”

“No. Hell no. Not even sure I could stomach cuddling but anything for you, Caitie.”


	49. Epiphany

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. This is the chapter I wrote over a year ago. This is where I've been leading the story all this time. This is what I want you to see. It is important. 
> 
> You already know that this story deals with the trauma of sexual abuse and rape. Maybe you know someone who's been through some shit. Maybe _you_ have been through some shit. Maybe you've mostly forgotten.
> 
> This chapter will be tough to read. Make sure you're well rested. Make sure there's someone you feel safe to confide in that are available to talk to if you need it after you've read it. But read it. Please. It may not apply to you but if it does... this might alter your perspective on some things.

Dean gave her a devil-may-care smile but a muscle ticked in his jaw. Still, his hands were gentle, coaxing and calming, as he nudged her to stand while he threw open the covers before guiding her to lie down on the bed proper.

He draped himself over her, his skin against her skin chest to calves. Resting his weight mostly on his knees and elbows, he framed her face with his hands and dove in for a sweet, soft kiss. 

Caitlin felt warmth flush through her at the closeness, the intimacy. She opened her mouth to Dean, to the soothing, gentle movements of his lips and tongue. Inside, she let him inside of her, his tongue in her mouth, his regard for her warming up her heart, his voice an anchor to reality. Inside. Soon, he would be. 

Dean’s hands stroked her sides lightly as he moved on from her mouth and pressed tickling and feather light kisses against her cheeks, jaw, forehead, and eyelids. The tender touches were innocent, unhurried vows of dedication to her pleasure, to her safety in his arms. Yet, every caress created a flash in her mind. 

Every time his fingers ran across her body, so careful and almost reverent, the ghosts of earlier touches, far less pleasant, followed. The constant overlay made her feel like she would go crazy if this kept going any longer, and she pushed Dean away. 

He moved obligingly, pity painting his features. After a few deep breaths, he gave her a small, sympathetic smile. “Cuddles, then?”

Caitlin rolled to her side, curling her knees up high until she almost lay in the fetal position. She reached out to clasp one of Dean’s hands. “I hate this. I want to have sex with you but I can’t. Just can’t. I’m tainted.” 

Dean brought her hand to his lips, kissing every single one of her knuckles. The clock ticked loudly in the silence between them. Finally, he settled their hands back on the mattress. “They had no right to do what they did to you, to put you through all those things.” He tightened his hand around hers. “I want to… to fix things so badly, to undo it. But, Caitie, you gotta know… I’m in the dark here. I don’t know how to help you.”

Caitlin felt the press of tears and squeezed his hand back. “It doesn’t matter that you’re perfect. I mean, you do everything just right...” She felt her cheeks heat up and clamped her mouth shut. _Did I just tell him he’s perfect? Is there cheese in my mouth? Do I taste cheese?_

Dean pursed his lips in thought. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do. Anything you need. I’ll do anything.”

A whimper escaped Caitlin along with a few tears. Angrily, she wiped them off with her free hand. “There’s nothing… I don’t… It’s like, my body won’t accept it. Like I’m being torn apart by the difference between then and now.”

Dean frowned. “By the difference? Fuck, Caitie, what did those assholes do to you?”

Caitlin took a couple of deep breaths to compose herself. “Whatever they wanted, Dean. They never gave me a choice. All I could do was survive, get through it, somehow, and hope for something to change.” 

Realization made her suck in air in a hiss. Taking away the choice knowingly, giving herself over to him, letting him take whatever he wanted only because she had asked him to; she felt dizzy at the thought, heat burning low in her stomach, wetness between her thighs. It might work. It might. But she couldn’t ask that of Dean. 

Dean watched her eyes widen, her chest heave. Watched her eyes darken and the way she pressed her legs together. Then her mouth clamped shut and her eyes went back to staring into nothing hopelessly. “No.” He let go of her hand to grab her face, keep her eyes on him. “Don’t shut down on me. What did you just think about?”

Caitlin tried to look away, fought his grip. When he didn’t budge, another flare of heat rushed through her. “I… can’t go through with this. But, Dean, I want it so bad. It’s like there’s a wall I have to burst through and I’m not strong enough. I need… I need someone to pull me through.”

Dean cleared his throat but still found his voice thick when he spoke. “Maybe you’re not ready. Why don’t you give it a few months?”

Caitlin inhaled sharply, anger flashing in her eyes. Then, surprisingly, she shut down again. She closed her eyes, pushed his hands away and turned her back to him and pulled the cover all the way up to her ear. Her breathing was deceptively regular but for the occasional hitch.

Sighing, Dean plastered himself to her back and hugged her tight to him. “Talk to me, Caitie. You’re upset. Why?” He mumbled the words into her hair and continued to press light kisses into the curly strands.

The clock ticked away the silence until Caitlin drew in a shuddering breath. “It’s fine, Dean. Just disappointed.” She shook in his arms as she exhaled, little tremors still running through her as the silence returned. _Tick. Tick._

“It’s more than that.” He felt her stiffen, open her mouth to say something. He didn’t give her time. “If you were disappointed, you’d still look at me. You’re upset and you’re trying to hide it.” Dean pulled on her shoulder, urging her to face him. “Caitlin, you told me you trusted me. Then trust me.”

She lay frozen next to him, muscles so tense they burned, while his words tore through her defenses. He pulled again and she gave in, rolling onto her back and covering her eyes with a hand. “I’ll never be ready. Tonight or next month or next year, without a push, I’ll balk.”

“What exactly do you mean when you say a push?” The words came out strained, because suddenly, Dean smelled sulfur, felt the heat of hellfire around him that no longer burnt his skin, felt the reassuring, encouraging weight of Alastair’s hand resting at the nape of his neck. _Did I leave? Did the last four years happen?_

“A push past that scared little bitch in my mind that keeps screaming no when all I want is to say yes.” Caitlin sighed as she felt Dean tense up and draw back, away from her. “I do trust you, I trust you enough that I wish you’d do that to me, that you’d just… take away my choice because I ask you to. Tell me,” she whispered, finally uncovering her eyes and turning to him, taking in his wide eyes, flaring nostrils, how he swallowed repeatedly, “how could I ask that of you?”

Dean closed his eyes, kept swallowing back bile until it stayed down. _It’s not about me._ “Didn’t I say _anything_ , Caitie?” He almost smiled at the way she blinked in surprise but there was nothing funny about the situation. She held his gaze unblinkingly as if looking for something. Whether she found it or not, he couldn’t tell. The silence grew again.

“So,” Dean finally broke under the tension. “You want me to force you to have sex? That’s what you’re talking about, right?” When she didn’t answer, he sighed. “I’m not really into that kinda stuff but I _have_ been beyond vanilla before. If we do this, we do it right. You’re gonna tell me exactly what you expect from me or it ain’t happening.”

Caitlin watched Dean’s jaw clench while he waited for her to respond. “Jeez, Dean, I don’t know. I thought you’d be relieved to just let your dick take over and do whatever instead of all the touchy feely crap you hate so much. But hey, if you’re not into _that_ , maybe we should just cuddle and you can braid my hair and tell me all about stopping the apocalypse.”

“What the fuck, Caitie? I mean, sure, maybe I should be more enthusiastic about play-pretend raping someone who’s been through enough already, but the apocalypse? Where the hell did that come from?” He was so angry, not about her question, not really. No, it was about the memories, about the things he did in Hell, about the things he’d dreamed about doing to her, the things she seemed to want from him. _Not about me, not about me. Shit._

Caitlin deflated, anger gone even faster than it flared. “I’m sorry. I kept thinking about what you said about the apocalypse, earlier. I was wondering what happened. I get that you don’t want to talk about it. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” She reached around him to draw figure-eights on his back. He was still tense, angry. “I don’t know why I snapped at you. It was unfair of me.”

Dean made a noncommittal grunt, fighting to keep himself under control, Hell so very close to the surface. He pushed the images, the sensory memories, the hunger, all of it away. “Will you… will you be fighting me?”

Caitlin shook her head no. “I’ll probably cry,” she whispered, and her eyes were already wet with unshed tears.

“Okay,” he said, pulling her to him in a crushing hug. “Okay. But I won’t hurt you and if you tell me to stop, I _will_ stop. Remember that.” She nodded against his neck and simply clung to him for a while.

He lifted her leg over his hip and slid his hand between her legs. Caitlin felt her breath hitch, it was like her whole body simply stopped functioning for a second. Dean was still gentle, still moving slowly, taking his time.

Then he was sliding a finger inside of her, where only _they_ had been before, and it felt good. She trembled in his arms, tear after tear escaping her closed eyes. So good. _No. No, no, no, no._ She pushed at his chest, clawed at his wrist.

Dean shushed her, murmured sweet nothings at her and relentlessly pressed and rubbed his finger _inside of her._

Heat spread through her veins, thawing out sensations long forgotten. She scrambled to get away from the intensity but Dean didn’t budge. She opened her eyes to beg him to let go and was shocked to see tear streaking down his cheeks. Regardless, he kept fingering her, flicking his thumb over her clit. The flare of want-need-just-take-me that shot through her felt so good, so wrong, so familiar. It felt… like it always had.

_“That’s right, sweetheart, you take it so good. Don’t know why you keep complaining, you love what I’m doing to you.” “Stop crying, little sis, you like it too.” “Such a good little whore for us, love fucking all of us so much, don’t you sweetheart? Don’t you?”_

Caitlin felt a scream of horror claw its way out of her throat. 

Dean stilled his movements but didn’t remove his hand. “Not stopping unless you tell me to. I’m doing what you asked me to do.” His voice was gravelly but his grip held firm. 

“Stop. I can’t let you... You shouldn’t. I’m… Just stop, Dean, stop, please, stop.”

For half a second, his grip tightened and Caitlin half thought he wouldn’t listen. Arousal flooded her and a moan escaped her. Part of her definitely didn’t want him to listen. He did, though. Just as she realized she didn’t want him to, he did.

The instant his hands were gone, she rolled away from him, jumped off the bed and began collecting her scattered clothes.

“What is it?” she heard him ask, but she ignored him. She needed to get away from him, she needed to stay away from him and everybody else, she needed to be alone. Forever.

Then a hand grabbed her arm, and she wrenched herself free before he could spin her around to face him. She could never look him in the eyes again. She pulled her panties on, not caring that they were turned inside out. Fumbled with her jeans for an eternity before stepping into first one leg, then the other.

“Caitlin, STOP! You gotta talk to me.”

“Please, just forget you ever met me,” she told him without looking anywhere but for her bra.

He came to stand in front of her, reached for her shoulders in slow motion, let his hands rest there, softly. “I could never forget you.” His voice was low and thick with emotion. 

She kept staring at her feet, their feet, not wanting to see the sad look on his face. “I can make you want to,” she declared. “If I told you, you would hate me.”

“Told me what, Caitlin?” Dean wanted to tell her that he could never hate her, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t listen.

“I liked it,” she almost screamed at him. “Everything they did to me, I liked it. Even if I didn’t want them to, even when I begged them to let me be, whenever they took me, I fucking liked it!” Caitlin sobbed uncontrollably, her hands in front of her face. 

Dean carefully gathered her in, rested her head against his naked shoulder. He felt her stiffen but she let him. Thankfully, she let him, and he couldn’t help a small sigh of relief.

“It only makes me hate _them_ more,” he stated calmly, holding her close. “What do you do when you stub a toe?” He felt her go still in surprise.

“Wh… What?” She actually looked up at him, and he smiled at her reassuringly.

“When you stub a toe, you yell and curse, because it hurts. You can’t decide to _not_ feel the pain just because you didn’t wanna get hurt, right?” Dean almost burst out laughing at her "duh" face, and she even smiled back a little through her tears. “When someone touches you, your body reacts. It can’t tell the difference between rape and sex, only your mind can. But just like your mind can’t make pain disappear, it can’t stop your body from reacting to touch.” He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “It doesn’t matter that part of you enjoyed it, it’s still not your fault, and you didn’t deserve it.” He gave her a heated look. “And I still want you, if you ever want to try this again with me.” 

Caitlin stared at him. The enormity of what he had just said, the weight of shame and guilt she had somehow carried all these years starting to lift, left her dizzy.

“I… I think I’d like to just sleep now,” she murmured, before going almost limp in his arms. Dean lifted her carefully back into the bed and dragged her jeans off of her again, before throwing the covers over her and climbing in beside her. He snuck his arm under her head and closed his eyes, content to feel her breathing slow down and deepen against his skin, while the clock ticked the seconds onward.


	50. Interception Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this chapter in two parts. 
> 
> **This part is DARK and TRIGGERING.**
> 
> It's a little exposition and character background and then one plot revolving event.   
> _**I will recap everything you need to know at the beginning of the next part of the chapter, so you DON'T have to read this!!!**_
> 
> Contains another dose of hell. **Graphic depiction of rape of the male/male variety. Psychological torture.**  
>  You have been warned.

The inevitable nightmare began as soon as Dean slipped into sleep. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, not after the events with Caitlin, that it was the day he said yes. 

_Alastair’s hands had been strangely gentle, had placed soothing touches all over his completely whole, unharmed body. Instead of being split open by the implement of the hour, hellhound cock, or just demon cock after demon cock, the way things usually went when flavor of the day was rape, Alastair had fingered him open, used some sort of lotion as lube that turned his ass super sensitive but didn’t hurt._

_For the first time in three decades, he had felt pleasure instead of pain. Never had he hated himself more than when his own cock rose at a demon’s foul touch. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop the rhythmic stabs at his prostate as Alastair fucked into him, couldn’t stop himself fucking keening from the stimulation. Couldn’t stop himself shooting off like a loose cannon the second Alastair closed a hand around his cock._

_Couldn’t stop the guilt, shame, self-loathing that flooded him until tears ran freely down his face at Alastair’s taunting words.  
“Such a cock hungry slut, aren’t you Dean. Coming so hard from being fucked by a demon.” _

_Though Dean was whimpering now, each of Alastair’s thrusts too much, too good, too hard, Alastair never changed the rhythm, never eased up. Not that Dean had been expecting him to. No mercy, no reprieve, no unconsciousness, no death._

_Alastair’s words never stopped, either. “Got this all on tape, Dean. Preserved your horny, needy sounds for fucking ever. Gonna show them to everyone who ever cared about you, everyone whose opinion matters to you.” He fucked into Dean harder and it hurt, fuck it hurt, but it was still good._

_Dean sobbed as he felt himself harden again. Sobbed at Alastair’s words. “What do you think your precious little brother will think of you when he sees this, mmh?” Alastair grabbed Dean by the hair and pulled his head up. “Open your eyes, slut.”_

_Dean tried to resist, squeezed his eyes shut but it didn’t matter. Alastair slapped Dean’s ass hard enough to elicit a broken scream from his mouth. “Open your eyes.”_

_Yanking Dean’s head up further, landing blow after blow on his ass cheeks, constantly pounding his cock into him, Alastair began to laugh. “Resist all you want, Dean. More fun for me. But this won’t be over until you OPEN. YOUR. EYES.”_

_His own cock throbbing, aching for another release, his entire sensory system on overdrive, Dean capitulated. He opened his eyes. He wanted to scream but couldn’t get his lungs to work. A reflection of himself impaled by Alastair, hard and aching, unrestrained. Willingly submitting_. I’m not, I don’t want this. I can’t stop it.

_Before he could close his eyes again, commands be damned, Alastair groaned and stilled. Burning, acidic pain erupted deep inside him. Instead of screaming in agony, however, Dean came harder than he ever had before, watching himself as he did, mortified._

_“You can stop this anytime you want, Dean. You know how. Guess you just enjoy the pain too much,” Alastair said mockingly. “Can’t wait to show this to your Uncle Bobby. He probably needs something new in the spank bank anyway.” Alastair’s voice never lost it’s slithery, snakelike quality. His cock was still buried deep, keeping the burning liquid from escaping. “I got a reaper on the payroll that might be willing to take a copy to your old man upstairs. That’d give him something to laugh about, don’t you think?”_

_“Stop!” Dean cried, couldn’t stand it a second longer. “Stop, for fucks sake, Alastair. I’ll do what you want, I’ll do anything. Just don’t ever tell anyone. Stop, please.”_

_Alastair stood frozen in ecstasy, coming a second time without even moving. “Fuck, you beg so prettily, pet. That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” The words were whispered in a reverent tone, while Dean fought and gasped through the pain inside. Then Alastair pulled out at last, snapped his fingers and all physical pain was gone._

_Dean was pulled into a warm hug and when he tried to push away, Alastair tutted at him. “There now, pet. You said you’d do anything and right now I say your place is here. If you disobey me, I’ll be happy to carry out my other plans.”_

_Dean cried again as if he hadn’t forfeited his soul when he traded his life for Sam’s, but in this moment, when he allowed Alastair to hold him, stroke his hair, and murmur praising words like “good pet, so pretty, all broken and beautiful,” at him._

_The scenery changed, as it tends to do in dreams, and Dean found himself in front of the racks, beloved bull whip, symbol of the control he had regained, in hand. Strung up before him hung Caitlin, a whimpering mess of bleeding wounds. He looked between her and the whip in his hand, his erect cock straining against denim._

_Dean’s legs gave out under him and his knees hit the ground hard. A part of him remembered this, remembered that day: It shouldn’t be Caitlin on the rack; it was a stranger, a woman he didn’t know._

_His short-lived rebellion happened after Alastair’s slick voice informed him that his present “customer” had sold her soul for her cancer sick daughter. Just like he had been then, he was on hands and knees, retching. Just like he had then, he got to his feet shakily and turned to Alastair, all righteous defiance._

_“I’m done. Never again, Alastair. Put me back up there, I don’t care.” Why had Alastair simply laughing at him been a surprise?_

_“Dean, Dean, Dean. We both know you don’t mean that. Do I need to remind you why you do what I tell you? Why you do it so well?”_

_Dean didn’t need to be reminded. Back then, Alastair had reminded him, plenty, until Dean had folded under the shame once again. He opened his mouth to speak the truth he had covertly gathered for himself after Cas pulled him out, sleepless nights scouring the vast resources of the Internet for knowledge. Always so careful to delete the browser history, lest Sam might find the searches on “torture psychology” “rape survivor recovery” and “PTSD.”_

_“You set me up, Alastair. The only thing that’s wrong with me is that I let you turn me into_ this _.” He gestured at the whip on the ground, the rack behind him._

_Alastair scowled. He put a hand around Dean’s throat, lifted him off the ground and squeezed. “Very funny, Dean. You’re the finest student I’ve ever had and you’re not even halfway to earning your black eyes yet. What you’ve achieved as a mere human is absolutely stunning. You can’t turn your back on that.”_

_Dean fought for breath, fought the horror of what he had done just to preserve his own dignity, fought the temptation to give in, become the monster so many had taken him for, even before this happened. Mostly, he fought for air. When was Hell ever this cold?_

Caitlin woke, a strange sense of peace inside her. She lay with her eyes closed, smiling blissfully waiting for whatever woke her up to finish the job. She felt the warmth of Dean next to her and snuggled closer to him. 

Dean made strange noise from deep in his throat that had Caitlin’s hackles raised instantly. It barely sounded human, more like something to come from a mortally wounded animal. She reached for the bedside lamp and blinked at the sudden light. Dean lay perfectly still but for the sickening keening. 

Remembering the last time Dean had a nightmare, Caitlin eased off the cover and glanced down. Despite Dean sounding like he was dying, one part of him was up and partying. While Caitlin watched, unsure of what to do, the sounds turned to whimpers and unintelligible pleading. Just as she couldn’t take it any longer and reached out to rouse him, Dean blew his load.

Exhaling with relief, she waited for his eyes to pop open like the last time. Instead, the whimpers and pleading continued. By now, enough words were audible that she put it together; she guessed what was happening to him in his nightmare and why he had known just what to say to her, earlier. 

She shook him violently, then, begged him to wake up. He showed no signs of heeding her, lost in his own mind. He stopped breathing, broken, strangled noises escaping his throat, but not enough air. She was weeping, relentlessly fighting to rouse him, when ice cold fingers wrapped around her shoulder and pulled her away.

Startled but already driven beyond shock, she turned to see an older man, gray beard, baseball cap, and light gray eyes, standing there. The colors on him looked kind of washed out and he was semi-transparent. A ghost. Was he the one hurting Dean? The second the thought crossed her mind, the man shook his head gently.

“Lemme help him,” the specter said. He had kind eyes and was looking at Dean compassionately.

“How?”

“I’ll do for him what he once did for me. I’ll enter the dream, drag him out.”

“Is he… is his life in danger?”

“You’re the doctor, you tell me.” The man gave her a wry smile and stretched out his hand as if to shake. Thinking better of it, he let it fall back to his side. “I’m Bobby.”

Caitlin had heard the brothers talking about their “Uncle Bobby” often enough. She nodded and moved back to indicate that she was onboard with his plan. 

He nodded back and touched a hand to Dean’s forehead. He shimmered and disappeared.

_Objectively speaking, Dean should be more worried about the lack of oxygen but hanging limply from Alastair’s grip, he was shivering with cold. In the hazy distance of the four-dimensional chaos of Hell, a figure materialized, striding purposely toward them._

_As the figure passed Caitlin’s limp form, the cap caught the light. Not knowing how he managed against the pressure around his throat, Dean croaked: “Bobby?”_

_“Yeah, Son. You’re having a nightmare. Let’s wake up, shall we?”_

_Alastair turned to snarl at Bobby, who looked thoroughly unamused. “Git,” he said and threw a single punch at the demon._

_**Just a nightmare.**_ Dean opened his eyes. 

Caitlin hovered beside him, obviously upset. 

A flickering next to the bed caught his attention and he turned to look into Bobby’s eyes. Bobby looked as stoic as ever but a grim smile hovered on his lips. He nodded slowly at Dean, his eyes warmer than the cold radiating from him. Then he flickered again and vanished.

Dean groaned and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I’m not ready to deal with this.”

Caitlin stroked his hair. “Then get some more sleep.”

“You’re not gonna ask me about this?” He removed his hands at stared her in astonishment.

“You had a nightmare. Your uncle Bobby showed up. I guess he really was around, after all.”

Dean grabbed her head and pulled her down for a grateful kiss. “Alright, smartypants,” he said when they paused for breath. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dean.” She smiled at him, burrowed in close and rested a hand over his heart.

Turning slightly, he wrapped both arms around her and nuzzled the top of her head. Her hair tickled his nose and he sneezed, before sighing contentedly and closing his eyes.

Caitlin lay awake for hours, confused about the many facets of the mystery named Dean Winchester, nervous about what the next day would bring, and finding a new understanding her own life story thanks to Dean’s insight.


	51. Interception - Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a recap of part I for those who didn't want to read it. Dean had a nightmare about his time in hell and the day he finally said yes to Alastair. There were parallels to Caitlin's discovery about her own repressed memories in chapter 49. In the dream, Alastair got angry when Dean wouldn't obey him and choked him.  
> Caitlin was awake and worried and couldn't wake him. Bobby showed up, introduced himself to Caitlin and jumped into Dean's nightmare and woke him up. Bobby "left" again and Dean and Caitlin went back to sleep.

Half past six, Sam banged on the door. “Guys, wake up. Something’s come up.”

Dean extricated himself from Caitlin who seemed unable to return to consciousness. He glanced down over himself. _Yep. Something’s up, alright._ “Hold on, Sammy, I’ll be right out.” He began the hunt for clothes.

Twenty minutes later, the three of them were cramped in Sam’s room, eyes glued to the laptop screen, where an enthusiastic redhead was busy supposedly hacking Frank’s hard drive. 

“Well, fuck.” Dean ran a hand through his already sleep-mussed hair.

“Charlie Bradbury.” Sam pointed to a nameplate over the desk, barely visible in the pixelated video feed. 

Dean fished his phone out of his pocket and searched. “I’ve got an address.”

“How far?”

Dean tapped some more and his face fell. “Thirteen hours.”

Sam exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead. “This was yesterday afternoon. We need to get to her before she gets back to Roman Enterprise.” Sam looked at the laptop clock and mentally subtracted on hour due to time zones. “We’ve got about two hours, depending on how early she leaves for work.”

Glum silence filled the room as minutes ticked by. Caitlin rubbed her arms against the morning chill.

“Why dontcha call the angel, ya idgits.”

Sam’s head whipped around as he stared wide-eyed at the apparition. “Bobby?”

“In the flesh, Son. Or… ya know.” Bobby flashed a wry smile.

Dean went outside to pray. 

Meanwhile, Sam stayed in a state of shell shock over Bobby’s sudden appearance and closely followed _dis_ appearance. 

Caitlin went back to the room she and Dean had shared to pack her things. She wandered around aimlessly, picking up items and putting them back down, laying stuff in neat piles on the bed only to jumble the piles into a giant heap minutes later. Her stomach growled angrily but the thought of food made her want to throw up. Seven hours until Derek Morgan and his team arrived.

There was a knock on the door, and Dean entered briskly, mouth open to speak. He glanced around and frowned. “Redecorating?”

“No. No, just… packing.” 

Dean’s eyebrows shot up as he took in the mess on the bed. “Right. Well. Good.” He watched her flounder around in unacknowledged confusion some more. Stepping forward to block her path, he pulled her close. “Don’t know where your head’s at, Caitie, but I need you here right now. Can you come back to me?”

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Caitlin relaxed into his embrace. The sound of his voice, his scent, brought colors back to the world. “Dean.”

He stroked her hair and held her, temporarily forgetting everything else.

“Did you figure something out?” She had her arms around him, hands fisted in his flannel.

Dean almost jolted as the realities of the situation came back to him. “Yeah. Yeah, I came to tell you. Cas is gonna zap us to Alabama, then come back here and stay with you.”

Caitlin nodded her understanding but didn’t let go of him.

“He’s, um, he’s waiting for me.” Dean reluctantly took a step back, forcing her to loosen her grip. “We’re just going to find out if this Charlie is a big mouth or a human and persuade her to keep whatever info she might have found to herself one way or another.” He reached out and held her face in gentle hands, thumbs caressing her cheeks. “We’ll be back before you know it.” He leaned in to press a chaste kiss to her lips.

She closed her eyes, wanted to keep them closed so she couldn’t see him leave. Keep them closed until he came back. 

But he didn’t move away, his breath ghosting over her face, his rough palms warm against her cheeks. “Caitlin, look at me. You’ll be fine.”

She looked at him, compelled by the gravel in his voice. Despite the reassurance of his words, his eyes were asking her for confirmation. She braved a smile. “I will. I’m so nervous right now, I can’t even worry about the Charlie-thing. It’ll be better once I get this afternoon over and done with.”

“Good.” He leaned in for another, longer kiss.

The door burst open to reveal Castiel, immediately looking contrite. “I’m sorry. I forgot about doorknobs.”

“Right,” Dean sighed, mouth quirking slightly upward. “Next on solid objects for dummies: Knocking before forgetting about doorknobs.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. “I thought you and Sam were in a hurry, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes fell to the floor. “You’re right. Let’s get this show on the road.” He trailed a hand down Caitlin’s arm and squeezed her hand with a humorless smile. “Stay safe, Caitie.” He walked out the door. 

Castiel stood on the spot for a few seconds before trailing after Dean, muttering: “What show? What road?”

Caitlin softly stepped over to close the door after them. “You too, Dean,” she whispered into the silence.

XOXOX

Charlie sat in front of her computer, chewing her nails. The only time she had left her chair since she cracked the hard drive her boss had trusted her to retrieve the data from, had been to avoid pissing her pants literally. After all, metaphorically, they were already wet and smelly.

She shouldn’t believe what was on that hard drive. Logic and reason dictated that she write off this Devereaux dude as a conspiracy theory nutcase. Occam's razor and all that. 

Except. Why would her boss ask her to extract this information as a matter of utmost importance, if it was all mad ravings?  
Except. Several of her co-workers had been “off” in the past few months.  
Except. Soap dispensers in the restrooms at work used to be empty at least twice every week. Juan still worked there, the lazy ass janitor, and as far as she knew nothing anyone had ever said to him had made him change his routine of only refilling them too late. So why had they not been empty even once for six weeks? 

She shot up from her chair to find everything boraxy she owned. She managed two steps before her path was blocked by three men. One second she had a clear view of the doorway to the kitchen, the next they were standing there, three stooges with somber looks. 

She stumbled back, grasping for something, anything, to use as a weapon. She got hold of her Glamdring copy and fervently hoped that she’d been lucky with the quality of a low-cost geekaphernalia, for once. _Please, God. Just this once._  
She held the sword protectively in front of her. “Stop.” Maybe that was a bit redundant as none of them had as much as twitched. “I had funions for dinner, I’ll taste horrible. You’ll probably get sick.”

The dude in the middle squinted at her and the tallest raised his hands disarmingly. 

“We’re not Leviathans.” He gave her a look of earnest sincerity combined with a built in puppy-in-a-shelter vibe that had Charlie’s hands shaking.  
“That’s exactly what one of them would say,” she managed, adjusting her grip.

“You’ve read Frank’s research? They’re allergic to soap. You can test us.”

XOXOX

Cas showed up again shortly after leaving with Dean. He didn’t bother with the door, opting to appear in the one chair in a corner of the room.

Caitlin had been pacing, still under the pretense of packing, cleaning up, being useful. She had once again slipped into a strange no man's land where nothing seemed real. The way she didn’t startle or feel her head spin at the angel’s arrival, was disturbing. 

“Charlie is a human. She believed us. She will not give Roman any information.”

“That’s good news.” Caitlin smiled at the angel, who seemed as stoic and immovable as ever.

“I will remain by your side until they ask me to bring them back here.” Cas’ intense eyes bore into hers as if his words had a deeper meaning. 

If they did, it was lost on Caitlin. 

Castiel said nothing more, simply sat stiff-backed on the chair and stared out the window where a sparrow collected twigs and straw for its nest. 

Caitlin kept sneaking glances at the angel. An angel. He had healed Dean completely, no wounds left, no longer hypovolemic. He kept teleporting left and right. Angels were real. God. What did that mean? Why did things like the Mitchells happen to anyone? Why did they happen to Caitlin? If God and angels were real, what had she done to be punished so badly?

Castiel turned towards her, expression serious. "My Father does not believe in micromanaging. You were not being punished. You were simply unfortunate."

Caitlin stared at him. "You read minds?"

"No. Normally I can only hear prayers. But you were thinking extremely loudly."

Caitlin couldn't help a snort. "That's reading minds by my definition."

"You were projecting your thoughts at me, wanting answers." 

Caitlin figured he was right. It didn't make her feel any better about any of it. So many out there believed, prayed, and thought angels were these amazing creatures that helped and watched over people. Apparently, the joke was on them, even though angels existed.

"Castiel?" She didn't know how to ask or if she even wanted the answer, but she continued. "If angels don't look after humans, then why are you here?"

Cas glanced at her only for a fraction of a second. He clenched his fists and looked out the window again. "I was responsible for getting Dean out of hell during the beginning of the end," he finally mumbled.

 _Well. Not thinking about FBI now._ “I… Hell? Dean was in hell?” 

Cas looked at her again. “Did you not know this?”

Mutely, Caitlin shook her head.

Cas sunk his head in his hands.”I can’t do anything right,” he groaned morosely. 

There was a tinkling sound overhead. When Caitlin looked up, she saw the lamp shaking, shining brighter and brighter though the switch was off, until it burst with a shower of sparks and glass fragments.

“Cas!” She headed over to him before she could think better of it and knelt in front of him. “Cas, what’s wrong?”

Cas rubbed his eyes and swallowed hard. “He is already so angry with me, Sarah. So angry, as he should be. I can never make it up to him.” His clear blue eyes looked at her imploringly. “He is my friend, Sarah. I never had a friend before.”

Barely realizing he was using her given name, Caitlin fought the instinct to touch the angel. He had just exploded a light bulb, after all. The bedside lamp closest to them began to shine.

“I let him down. I betrayed him. My first friend.”

“Please, relax, Cas. Please. I’m sure it’ll all work out.” Caitlin’s voice shook, and she started violently when the light bulb burst and shattered. Closing her eyes and inhaling sharply, she grabbed his hand. When she didn’t instantaneously combust, she looked at him again. “Calm down, she whispered, and gently held his hand between both of hers.

“I’m sorry.” Cas briefly collected himself. “I was sent here to protect you, but I cannot do this. The voices…” He pressed his free hand to his ear and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he wore a haunted look. “I cannot stay. Pray to me if you need my assistance.”

The sparrow outside the window had found a worm. Caitlin was alone, kneeling beside an empty chair. The floor and bed were covered in tiny glass fragments. The ever ticking clock informed her that there were five hours left. With a sigh, she began to clean up.

XOXOX

“You’re a hacker, right?” Sam paced the floor in Charlie’s small living room, ignoring the eye rollings he received from both Charlie and his brother. “Couldn’t you hack Dick’s harddrive? Maybe there’s something on there that we can use against him.”

Charlie shook her head no. “It’s super secure. Not connected to the Internet. I’d have to actually be in the room with it.”

“But you work there, right? You could go in there?”

“I’m not that brave.” Charlie hunched in on herself.

“So you could? You just won’t because you’re too scared?” Dean took one of the little figures on Charlie’s desk and scrutinized it. 

She snatched it away from him. “Don’t touch my Hermione.”

Dean raised his hands in a half disarming, half sarcastic gesture. 

Sam cleared his throat. “Do you think Hermione would back down from something like this?”

Charlie looked at Sam with narrow eyes before contemplating the tiny figure in her hand. “No. She wouldn’t.” She sighed deeply. “I guess I _should_ help make sure everyone I know doesn’t get eaten.”

XOXOX

“The plan starts at 9 PM, then?” Dean looked to Sam and Charlie for confirmation. They had spent three hours hashing out the details.

“Yeah, plenty of time to get ahold of a van and charge those silly comm links you found in Wonko’s last year.” Sam pinched his lips at the end of the sentence and frowned at Dean, daring him to comment.

Dean smiled at him in return, open-mouthed, excited, and wriggled his eyebrows. “I told you they’d come in handy someday.” Chuckling at Sam’s annoyance, Dean kicked back in a chair comfortably. “But I think that leaves us just enough time for another trip to Elizabethtown. I kinda promised Caitlin I’d be there.”

“What?!” Sam stared at him in disbelief. “Dean, we spent several months this year on FBI’s most wanted list and you want to sit in on the interrogation? Do you really enjoy prison that much?” 

“Course not, Sammy. Orange ain’t my color.” Dean rose from the chair and stood inches from Sam. “The Leviathans know everything about her and the Mitchells. How big do you think chances are, they’ll try something this afternoon?” He poked Sam’s ribs with his index finger to emphasize his next words: “If her life was on the line, would _you_ continue tonight’s plan?”

Sam looked down, thoughtful. Then he nodded. “You’re right. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

Dean made a grimace. “Maybe because you didn’t barge into the wrong house to rescue her and nearly got ate.”

Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Man, I’m sorry. I remember. Lucifer told me just as you must’ve been going in. Those bastards at the hospital wouldn’t let me use the phone.”

Charlie cleared her throat loudly. “Okay, the FBI most wanted, I get. Not gonna ask about Lucifer, because with that name, well… and the rest just sounds... “ she chuckled nervously, “but you’re not leaving me here alone, are you? And if there’s damsels in distress needing rescuing, I wanna go.”

Dean gave her an amused look. “Eager all of a sudden, aren’t ya? Where was that adventurous spirit when we suggested a little trespassing at your workplace?”

“It didn’t involve any damsels, did it?” Charlie arched an eyebrow at him and smirked.

Dean frowned in puzzlement until the dime dropped. “Oh,” he said and scratched his neck nervously. “Oh.”


	52. It Shall Be Told Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this one in two parts as well. Trying to get a bit ahead again. I'm sorry for any mistakes. This is unbetaed and only just finished so I haven't even been able to reread it myself.

There was a knock on the door. Caitlin jumped, then froze, staring at it. It was almost an hour earlier than Derek had told Sam and she wasn’t ready. Well, technically she was, hair dry and smoothed back in a loose ponytail, her clothes clean and almost matching. But she wasn’t _ready_. Not yet. Shaking, she stumbled forward. Not like she would be ready in another hour, anyway.

The rapping came again, harder and more insistent. “Caitlin! Are you in there?”

She rushed the last few steps, smiling broadly. Dean had made it back in time. She swung the door open and stopped short of throwing herself into his arms when she saw a petite red haired woman, dwarfed by the two Winchesters on either side of her. She recognized her from the footage on Sam’s computer the same morning.

When Charlie felt the other woman’s eyes on her, she smiled sweetly at her and stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Charlie. Nice to meet you.”

Caitlin stared at the outstretched hand and frowned. Her gaze shifted to Dean, conveying an unvoiced question. Dean shrugged back at her, looking slightly apologetic or maybe uncomfortable. The awkwardness was growing exponentially with every millisecond. Caitlin turned back to Charlie and finally shook hands with her. “I’m Caitlin.”

Caitlin stepped aside and let the others into her room. Only when she had closed the door and turned to face them, did she see what they were already staring at. The bulbless lamps, the heap of things on the bed, the confetti-sized pieces of paper by the chair where she had sat and slowly, bitterly, demolished the motel bible after cleaning up after Cas.

Dean went to her side and tucked her under his arm, giving her a tight, comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry we had to leave.”

“I’m glad you came back.” Caitlin snuggled into his side and took a deep sniff of _‘essence of Dean.’ If that smell could be bottled…_ Then her eyes found Charlie again and she regretfully let go of Dean and took a small step away from him, her cheeks heating up a little. No one should see her this way.

Dean’s eyes flitted between Caitlin and Charlie, a heavy weight settling in his gut. _Should have fucking known_. He sighed and jammed his hands in his pockets, where no one could see them clench until his nails bit into his palms.

“Charlie’s gonna hack Roman’s computer tonight, see if there’s something we can use against him.” Sam placed a friendly hand on Charlie’s shoulder.

Charlie smiled nervously at Sam. “Can’t wait,” she mumbled. She braced herself and braved a bigger smile at Caitlin. “I’ll 007 those pesky bigmouths.” She chuckled humorlessly.

Sam gave her shoulder an extra squeeze. “Definitely.”

“Make Bond your bitch.” Dean gave a lopsided smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We should grab something to eat before things get crazy.”

Caitlin paled at the mention of food and sprinted to the bathroom. The others shifted uncomfortably on their feet as they heard her retching. 

Dean buried his face in his hands with a groan. “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

XOXOX

Caitlin emerged a few minutes later, eyes red and watery, skin pallid. “Sorry.”

Dean was at her side immediately. “No, no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said the f-word.”

Caitlin giggled and brushed her fingers against his knuckles. “I would have done it soon anyway.”

According to the clock by the bed, there was half an hour left. Silence fell over the room and its ticking seemed louder by the second. She met Dean’s eyes and inexplicably felt the ghost of his warm hands gliding over her skin, his finger touching her _inside_. She squirmed when heat flared between her legs and felt her face heat up. She snatched her hand back and stepped away from Dean, diverting her attention to Charlie.

“So how did you end up working for the bad guys?”

Charlie shrugged. “I guess I didn’t read the small print in the contract. Didn’t realize they were any worse than the other corporate assholes willing to pay me money.” She eyed Caitlin with curiosity. “How did you end up with these black holes of testosterone as personal bodyguards?”

_Dean exposed my boss as an unmitigated misogynist, a ghost tried to kill me, then Sam tried to kill me in his sleep. We got rid of the ghost, Dean’s three days old daughter tried to kill us, some Leviathans found and caught us, a Djinn caught me, Sam got beat up by clowns, then my psycho stepfamily kidnapped me and here we are._ Caitlin pinched her lips and turned her eyes to the window. The bird was back. “Long story,” she finally said.

“Oh. Right.” Charlie tucked her hair behind her ear. “So what is it we’re doing this afternoon?”

Caitlin’s mouth fell open and she turned to glare at Dean in open betrayal. “You haven’t told her?”

“We wanted to get back in a hurry and she insisted on coming.” Dean gave her a bewildered look.

Caitlin crossed her arms over her chest and paced the short unoccupied space of the room.

Charlie followed her movements, throwing glances at Sam and Dean. “I…” she stuttered haltingly, “it sounded like they were going off to rescue someone. I didn’t get the specifics.”

The brothers both kept busy with the ugly carpet at their feet.

“You thought I needed rescue?” Caitlin’s eyes bored into Dean’s scalp until he slowly met her eyes, shamefaced. “Fuck you, Dean. Fuck you and your cocky ass arrogance.”

“Hey, we talked about this.” Dean held out his hands placatingly. “Anyone of those people you’re meeting could be Leviathan.”

“I just threw up because I have to tell everything to a bunch of complete strangers in half an hour.” She turned to point an angry finger at Dean. “If there are Leviathan at least they’re built in a way that means they already know everything.” 

“I was thinking about keeping you alive. All I care about is your safety.” Dean pointed right back at her in annoyance. 

“I’m so glad my safety is your primary concern now that you’ve proven you don’t give a shit about my feelings.”

Dean’s mouth snapped shut, a pained look crossing his face before anger took over.

Caitlin wanted to kiss him and punch him and apologize and yell some more. Regardless, words spilled out her mouth, too big to keep inside. “Fuck everything I’ve done with you, all the progress I’ve made. No, let’s bring Caitlin a complete stranger out of the blue so she can spend even more time talking about the past today. Because Caitlin _loves_ that.”

“God dammit, Caitlin, that’s not it at all. I get that you’re nervous but some of us are trying to save both your hide _and_ our whole species from becoming monster chow. Could you snap out of your own pity party for a second and just tell Charlie that her to-do-list doesn’t start until 9 PM?”

Caitlin let out a shocked gasp as her eyes shone with unshed tears. Her mouth opened, then closed without a word. She picked up her duffel and swung the door open wide. A final spiteful glance back at Dean was the last they saw of her before the door shut with a loud crack behind her.

Dean threw his arms up and looked at Sam. “Should I have said Christo?”

Sam shook his head. “No, she had a point.”

Dean sighed. “Of course she did. Now what?”

“You can’t really protect her from in here. Not that I think she wants you to right now.”

“You tellin’ me I should apologize?” Dean spoke the words flatly, sounding more tired than angered.

“Not telling you to do anything. Just stating the facts.” Sam shrugged. _Don’t take it out on me_ , he didn’t add.

Dean blinked and gave Sam a _look_. “Fuck it all,” he muttered and scrambled out the door in a hurry.

Charlie slowly met Sam’s eyes. “I said something stupid, didn’t I?”

XOXOX

Dean looked around the motel parking lot, but Caitlin was long gone. He set out toward the reception.

“Hey,” he greeted the young clerk at the desk. “Was there a woman in here a few minutes ago? Blonde hair, this tall?”

The kid answered in a bored voice. “She barely went through the door before this black dude greeted her. She went with him.”

“They got into a car?”

The clerk shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Dean marched back out, pulling his phone up and punching Morgan’s number. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the back of the phone through three beeps before the call was answered.

“Morgan speaking.”

“Is Caitlin with you?”

“Dean?”

“Yeah. Is she?”

“Yes, we’re pulling up at the station as we speak.”

“Put her on.”

There was some rustling as the phone was jostled around. Dean heard Caitlin’s voice protesting angrily before she spoke into his ear.

“Now is a really fucking bad time, Dean.”

“I know. We can continue the shouting match later, just… did you borax test Morgan before getting in the car with him?”

The silence stretched and Dean was striding toward the Impala, heart racing, when she spoke.

“No, because I’m helpless and stupid and without you I’ll die within two hours. Fuck you, Dean. It’s the real Derek, I’ve got enough soap in my pockets to test everyone in this lazy-ass town and I’ve got my knife on me. So you can go back to worrying about saving the human race, for all I care. Go back to Chicago, kick some monster ass and leave me alone.”

The phone went silent as she ended the call giving Dean no chance to reply.

Dean stood in the middle of the parking lot, shoulders hunched and jaw clenched tightly. _I wonder if Cas’ll sober me up for the heist tonight if I get shitfaced now._

XOXOX

Caitlin handed Derek the phone, eyes glued to the building they were parked next to.

“Ready?”

She counted out three slow breaths before answering. “Of course not.” Then she reached out a trembling hand and opened the car door. She was out of the car before Derek had gotten his seatbelt off.

Through the double doors was a large open office space, one third of the work places occupied by men and women in uniform. As they entered, a dark haired woman stuck her head out of a glass door on the other side of the room.

“Morgan, finally. The Mitchells’ lawyer is starting to complain about unnecessarily long detainment.”

Derek acknowledged her with a nod. “Is there a room ready for us?”

The woman nodded and pointed to where she had come from. Then she stuck her hand out toward Caitlin and when Caitlin responded, she didn’t as much shake hands with her as she simply held her hand in a tight, warm grip. “I’m Emily Prentiss. Morgan and I will be conducting the interview and it will be recorded on film. Whenever it gets to be too much, just ask for a break.”

Caitlin nodded, mouth too dry to speak. Agent Prentiss was definitely not a Leviathan. She put her hand back in her pocket and rubbed some more soap into her skin. 

They walked into a small room, a camera already waiting. There was bottled water, a bowl of granola bars, assorted chocolate, and a few Pepsi cans on the table.

Derek pulled out the chair opposite the camera for Caitlin and sat down next to Prentiss.

“This is a preliminary interview. With what I know so far, it will likely be the first of many, as we try to dig up as many details about the case as possible. The goal is to proof beyond any doubt that your stepfather and -brothers did in fact break the law.” Derek paused and waited for Caitlin to nod that she understood. “First things first: Can you tell us what happened on the night of April 14th?”

“I checked into the Midnight Blue Motel in Dewe, Kansas. At some point in the evening, there was a knock on my door. When I didn’t open, the door was kicked open. Saul, Cody, and Brad Mitchell entered the motel room uninvited. They… they didn’t say anything, just walked toward me. Saul had a knife. I got behind the bed and grabbed a nightstand but it caught in the outlet. He knocked me out. I came to tied up in a car trunk.”

Prentiss opened her mouth, but Morgan spoke first. “What happened then?”

Caitlin told them. When she talked about the collar, she kept a hand pressed to her neck. It’s gone, it’s gone, I’m free. When she described the cold shower, she started shaking.

“Easy now, let’s take a break,” Morgan cut her off.

Caitlin fell silent and focused on her breathing. Her cheeks were wet. The room felt cold and foreign, too big. She suddenly couldn’t care less that Dean was an occasional insensitive asshole. All she wanted was his arms around her and his whisky-gunpowder scent of safety in her nostrils.

When had she become so dependent on him? Well, it wouldn’t do. This world didn’t care about what she wanted and needed and Dean certainly couldn’t be expected to mold his chaotic life around her. _Get over it, Caitie… Oh God. That’s his nickname for me._ She pushed the chair back and got up. Once safely out of the camera’s view and her back turned to the others, she cried.

XOXOX

Dean entered the motel room where Sam and Charlie sat next to each other on the bed, idly chatting. He caught the word “mainframe” and stopped listening. He plumped down in the chair and uncapped the bottle of whisky he had picked up at the nearest drugstore after calling Morgan and getting yelled at by Caitlin.

“Hey!” Sam was kneeling in front of Dean, hand waving in front of his face. 

Dean startled a bit, hadn’t noticed his brother at all, hell bent on boozing up in a hurry. “What?”

“You can’t get drunk now. We’re Charlie’s backup in four hours when she walks into the boss monster lair. Suck it up, Dean.” Sam caught the bottle and tried to wrestle it away from Dean.

“Cas can kill my buzz in four hours. If I’m gonna be useless, then lemme _be_ useless.” Dean held onto the bottle petulantly.

Charlie shrieked as Cas showed up out of nowhere. “I will not act as your personalized angel transport and alcohol purger. It is bad enough that I have to heal the cirrhosis on your liver every chance I get or you would be dying of liver failure in less than a decade.”

Eyes glued to the angel, Dean let Sam take the bottle. 

Cas put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, the gesture he’d learned from Dean himself years ago. “You are not useless.”

When Cas said nothing else and didn’t move, the silence grew awkward quickly.

Abruptly, Dean seemed to shake himself out of his funk and stood. “Thanks, Cas.” He picked up his belongings and threw a meaningful glance at Sam and Charlie. “How ‘bout we get started a bit earlier?”

Sam pinched his lips together and shook his head. “The only thing we can accomplish in Chicago now is getting spotted before Charlie has a chance to do her thing.”

Dean glared at his brother, narrowed eyes and tense muscles easily expressing his pent up, irrational anger.

Sam sighed and shrugged. “It’s a shitty situation but maybe now is a good a time as ever to grow up and handle your feelings instead of numbing them or running away.”

Dean’s mouth fell open and his fists clenched. “I’m not the one who runs,” he growled.

Sam shrugged again. “Physically, no. But you’re a real pro at hiding, numbing, repressing, and deflecting.”

“That’s the Winchester way, god dammit!” Spit flew from Dean’s mouth as he yelled. There had only been one time before where he had wanted to punch Sam this badly (without the influence of supernatural things, of course.)

He had let his fists fly then and while their fight may not have been the sole reason for the angels’ scheme succeeding and Sam unknowingly breaking the last seal, it had certainly been a turning point. Immature as his little brother insisted that he was, Dean liked to think that he learned from his mistakes. Before Sam could say anything else, Dean left the room.

“I will watch over him.” Castiel’s announcement hung in the air, drowning out the flutter of his wings.

Charlie sat wide-eyed on the bed, looking at the spot where the angel had been seconds before. “Remind me again why I’m not at work, receiving a fat bonus for cracking a high priority assignment?”

XOXOX

Dean stood in front of the station, separated from Caitlin by much more than simple brick walls. There could be Leviathan in there. She could be having a flashback and no one would know how to comfort her. They could be asking her about Emma and the other Amazons, the Leviathan bodies in her apartment and how was she going to explain that. He wanted to be there so badly but if he went inside the building, he would be in cuffs within minutes.

“Cas, are you there?”

The angel showed up next to Dean, his eyes resting on the building in front of them.

“How’s she doin’?”

“She is crying.” Cas slowly turned toward Dean. “Dean, I can make you look different to anyone who do not know who you are for certain.”

“What?”

“I can put a glamour on you that only those that know you as an ally can see through.”

Dean blinked. “Well, what are you waiting for? Do it.”

Cas touched his forehead and Dean’s vision swam momentarily while every single nerve in his body _tingled_.

The sensation faded and the world came back into focus. Dean raised a finger at Castiel. “When this is over, you and I are gonna have a talk about you not mentioning this earlier.” Dean’s mouth quirked upward as he spoke, however.

“It only works on humans.”

“Spoilsport.” With a squeeze to Cas’ shoulder, Dean went up the broad steps to the police station.

He went straight to the first available officer. “Excuse me, can you tell me where to find Agent Morgan?” At the puzzled look, he clarified. “He’s with the B.A.U. and conducting an interview with a witness at the moment, if I’m not mistaken.”


	53. It Shall Be Told Part B

Caitlin fought to regain control over herself and stop crying. Every attempt to focus her thoughts on justice and setting examples dissolved in random pictures, sensations, sounds, and smells from her childhood and recent captivity. 

She was far from winning the battle and sensing Morgan and Prentiss’ patience waning when there was a knock on the door. She shied away from the sound, hiding in her corner and vigorously rubbing her face in her sleeve.

Morgan opened the door, ready to slip through it and talk to whoever was there outside. He froze. “You can’t be here,” he muttered.

“I’m here to offer my support to Ms. Smith. Of course, I can be here. I belong here.” 

Caitlin gasped at the familiar voice, laced with way too much swagger and smugness. Slowly she turned to take in Dean’s familiar form.

Dean reached out to shake Derek’s hand as if they’d never met before, his eyes begging the man to play along. “I’m Dean Smith. No relation to Caitlin. Well, you knew that, of course, since Smith isn’t her birth name.” He chuckled and stepped into the room to shake Prentiss’ hand.

Derek couldn’t breathe, ready for Emily to recognize the infamous, undead Dean Winchester. 

Instead she calmly shook his hand and introduced herself.  
“It’s good you’re here,” Prentiss added and motioned toward Caitlin.

Dean finally met her eyes, apologetic and excited all at once. “I hope you don’t mind,” he began but didn’t get any further.

Caitlin threw herself into his arms. “Dean.” Breathing deeply, drinking in his scent, she smiled into his chest.

He stroked her hair and back, holding her close. She looked up at him, still smiling, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry I was an ass, Caitie.” _I’m sorry I snapped at you. I was nervous too._

Caitlin pursed her lips in a mock pout. “You should work on your apologies, Mr. Ass.”

Dean grinned at her. “Yeah, yeah. After we save the world.” He threw a glance back at the two obviously eavesdropping and intrigued agents. “‘s population of baby seals. Gotta save seals.”

Caitlin laughed at him and stood on tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. She turned to Morgan. “Can you get him a chair?”

Ten minutes later, the interview was back on track. With Dean there to ground Caitlin, the agents quickly discovered that they could ask for more details without her crumbling before them. This led to Prentiss finally asking some of the difficult questions they needed answers to before they could do more about the Mitchells.

“As you probably know, we were already looking for you when you were kidnapped by the Mitchells. We had reason to believe that a couple of notorious serial killers had taken you from your home a few weeks prior to the abduction in Dewe. What really happened?”

Dean placed a hand on Caitlin’s arm before she could speak. “She’s not at liberty to tell you.”

“What?”

“I said,” Dean leaned forward and fixed Prentiss with a steely glare, “she’s not at liberty to tell you.”

“I heard. What’s that supposed to mean?” Prentiss shot back, no less relentless.

Dean leaned back and relaxed into his chair. Time to load the bullshit cannon with sharp rounds. “The Winchesters are dead,” he stated matter of factly. “I’ll most likely lose my job telling you this but Caitlin here has become my highest priority.” He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and smiled at her.

Caitlin stared at him, open-mouthed.

Dean squeezed her shoulder again and she hesitantly shut her mouth and managed to look like she was perfectly in the know. Dean sighed, as if reluctant to continue. “Their DNA was abstracted from the biomaterial of the explosion back in ‘08 and has been used in a series of classified experiments. Last spring the Chinese got hold of a sample. The latest Winchester sightings were really Chinese robots.”

There was stunned, disbelieving silence in the room. Finally, Prentiss spoke, flatly. “Robots?”

“Yeah, robots. I’m afraid we lost that race by lightyears. Anyway, Caitie got sorta caught in a dispute with the Chinese over the Winchester robots after we stole ‘em back.”

Prentiss stared at him, ready to call his bluff. 

Dean smirked. “Obviously, that entire affair is a CIA matter, not to mention a diplomatic nightmare. It has nothing to do with what happened to Ms. Smith when her family found her in Dewe.”

“And the fact that the Mitchells claim that a man matching Dean Winchester’s description came to their door three days ago?” Prentiss asked, her tone a bit softer. 

“What? 6ft2, dark blond hair? C’mon, that could be anyone. It could be me.” Dean chuckled. “It was me. I’d just had a run-in with the damned Chinese when I stumbled upon their hideout.” _Shit, I hope I look enough like myself for this to work._

Morgan looked like his eyes might pop out any second but he wisely kept his mouth shut as Prentiss slowly nodded.

“Very well, Mr. Smith. We’ll check your explanations through our official channels.” She turned to Caitlin. “Are you ready to continue, Ms. Smith?”

Caitlin nodded, eyes still a bit round. She recounted how Saul had dragged her into the living room and how Cody had been there, waiting. 

Dean reached out and held her hand, constantly rubbing circles in her palm and occasionally squeezing it as she talked. When she described his dramatic and well-timed entry, he let out a small snort of protest. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Caitlin was about to argue when he squeezed her hand, hard. He gave her a worried look. _Right. Angels don’t exist_. “Maybe not, but it sure looked bad,” she amended, squeezing his hand back.

XOXOX

Cas showed up in the motel room, just as Sam and Charlie were getting ready to go out. They were hungry.

“Dean is with Caitlin. I have made him unrecognizable to humans who don’t know him. It works. He asks if you could do him a “solid”.” Cas did the air quotes with his hands, addressing Charlie.

“Um, maybe? What does he want?”

“He wants you to hack into CIA’s database and create a fake project using Winchester DNA from ‘08, a fake report on a security breach in 2011 casting suspicion on the Chinese. Finally, he wants a fake agent named Dean Smith on the case. If you can make up some reports from said agent about Chinese Winchester robots in Seattle causing a bit of a ruckus resulting in the death of a band of Chinese spies that would be tippity top.”

“Tippity top?” Sam smiled.

“Dean’s words,” Cas answered, completely deadpan.

Charlie was already opening the laptop, mumbling curses about not being a goddamned fiction writer.

Sam sat down next to her. “Just get us in there, I’ll help with the details. Cas, do you have something you want to do or would you be willing to get us some food while we work?”

“I can do that, Sam. Pepperoni pizza?” A soft, barely there smile ghosted over his face.

XOXOX

Caitlin was so tired she could barely stand when the interview ended and she was allowed to leave.

“Take a day to relax and process,” Morgan told her. “We’ll have thought up a new batch of questions for you by Thursday.”

She acknowledged his words with a nod while yawning. 

Dean wrapped an arm around her and kept her on course. It was 8.15 PM by the time they returned to the motel. 

They halfway crashed through the door where Charlie and Sam jumped to their feet.

“About time!” Charlie’s hair was a mess and her lower lip looked red like she’d bitten down on it repeatedly for hours.

“Wouldn’t miss our Bond-girl doing her thing,” Caitlin slurred, smiling at her.

“Hold up, Caitie, you’re wiped. Get some sleep.”

“Didn’t you hear Morgan? I can sleep tomorrow. Right now, I want to come with you guys.”

“And if someone spots you in Chicago when you’re supposed to be here?”

“They won’t be seeing me, just a Chinese robot.” Caitlin chuckled, then she laughed out loud until she was crying from laughing so hard. “Do you have any idea, how hard it was to sit there and keep a straight face?”

Dean shrugged and scratched his neck. “Just had to get them to stop worrying about all that.”

Caitlin snorted. “Yeah, like they’re not going to talk to the CIA and learn that it was all bullshit. They’ll probably drop the case completely,” she realized, voice dropping low.

“Of course not,” Charlie said indignantly. “Via Angel telegraph we received a request for a new entry in the CIA database. I can assure you that when they check, they will find as much information as their security clearance allows them on Project W-08.147.”

Sam took over. “They’ll also find the reports on the theft of the project’s data and experiments as well as the valiant counter theft by Agent Dean Smith and his partner, Agent Nick Wesson.” Sam grinned. “There’s even a short note about a civilian helping them out in a shoot-out with the Chinese.”

Charlie chuckled. “It’s all completely legit. Manipulating the financial markets through panic and indebting the US further, included. No bullshit. Though I doubt anyone will ever take the CIA seriously again.”

Caitlin laughed with her. “Has anyone ever taken the CIA seriously?”

“More power to them,” Dean grumbled. He gave Sam a sharp look. “How long have you waited to use Nick as a nick, knucklehead?” Then, shaking his head at Sam’s answering grin, he continued: “Is everyone ready to go? Is it impossible to convince you to stay, Caitlin?”

XOXOX

The girls sat in the back of the van they had made their base of operations, as Dean drove with his usual nonchalance and disregard of speed limits.

Charlie moved purposefully, connecting wires and stacking equipment. Occasionally she’d pause to write seemingly random combinations of letters and numbers into Sam’s laptop. 

“Pass me that circuit board, please.”

Caitlin clutched a steel rack, slightly green. She looked at the heap of stuff they had picked up on the way (Cas had agreed to mess with the security cameras only after they promised to put everything back in perfect order when they were done.)

“This one?” She picked up a random item and held it out to Charlie. 

Charlie chuckled. “Not a geek girl, are you?” She took the thing and put it back, digging around until she got hold of the board.

“I fix people,” Caitlin shrugged.

Charlie arched an eyebrow at her and smirked. “Nurse?”

“Doctor. I’ll be choosing my specialty next year if they let me finish this term.”

Charlie grinned. “You go, girl. I can totally forgive your technical ignorance, then.”

“Oh thank God. I don’t know how I could survive without your approval,” Caitlin deadpanned.

Charlie shook her head, smiling. The circuit board already connected to her satisfaction, she continued setting up a surveillance system and readying it to hack into the system at Roman Enterprise. It was easy and left her too much brainpower to worry about what she was going to be doing in an hour or two.

“Please don’t freak out on me again,” she said, “but can you tell me anything about what was going on this afternoon? I’ve been wracking my brain but I just can’t connect the dots to how that CIA hack had anything to do with monster hunting.”

Caitlin nodded to herself. Charlie had earned some measure of trust. “I guess that Sam and Dean are branching out a bit, because of me.” She rubbed her forehead with her free hand. “I’m sure you’re aware that humans can be monstrous, too. They’re helping me put my stepdad and his sons behind bars.”

Charlie frowned. “Bonnie and Clyde types or Michael Jackson fans? If they’re up Dahmer’s ally, don’t tell me or I might abandon this mission.”

Caitlin shivered and looked through the narrow opening at the small visible strip of road. “Jacksons.”

She let out a small gasp when she felt Charlie’s hand at the side of her face. She looked into a pair of sad eyes _did Charlie and Sam practice puppy eyes all day?_ and braced herself for the inevitable pity.

“I really admire your strength,” Charlie said and ran her thumb over Caitlin’s cheekbone once before removing her hand.

Caitlin’s cheeks flushed. “Thanks.”

XOXOX

“Flirt? What do you mean flirt? He’s not exactly my type,” Charlie hissed into the microphone hidden in her t-shirt, careful not to let the security guard standing between her and Roman’s office hear.

Sam and Dean turned to Caitlin, hovering behind them in the cramped space in the back of the van 

“Don’t look at me. I’ve never flirted in my life, all I want is for guys to leave me alone.”

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine. I’ll talk you through it. Ask him if he works out a lot.”

XOXOX

“I’ve got something. A special delivery arriving at the airport in 40 minutes. Everything about the way it’s described screams fear. Well, perhaps not fear but caution.” Charlie spoke breathlessly into the mic, now going through the emails at her own desk.

The three in the van all held their breaths. The plan had been for Charlie to return to them so they could review the stolen data somewhere else, but Charlie insisted that she had stuff she needed to do on her own work computer before leaving the place behind for good.

“She’s probably deleting her tracks after hacking Pentagon,” Dean muttered, frowning with worry.

“Goldman Sachs, actually,” came the flippant reply over the intercom. “Do you want the secret stuff? Go to DuPage Airport, strip 5. I’ve made it look like the plane is half an hour delayed.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Sam told her sincerely.

“Yeah yeah. Now scoot, I’ll cover for you.” Charlie focused on the rather time-consuming task of permanently deleting any mentions of Winchesters from Frank Deveraux’s hard disk as well as any trace of the information ever having been there or having been tampered with.

“How far to DuPage,” Dean asked. 

Sam looked it up on his phone. “With you driving and this time of night, we should be able to make it in 30 minutes.”

Dean grinned. “Perfect. I’ve got an idea.”

“I’ll stay and keep an eye on Charlie,” Caitlin offered. 

The brothers clapped her on the shoulder and left her in the van. She waited, eyes locked on the security camera feed, heart in her throat. Thirty minutes later, she hailed Charlie over the intercom. “Charlie, a big black limo just drove into the garage. I’d say it’s time you leave.”

“Five more minutes.” Charlie’s fingers moved so fast it looked like she had at least twenty of them through the camera feed.

Caitlin watched Roman exit the black limo downstairs. “No. Charlie, whatever you’re doing, it’s not worth it. Get out, now.”

Charlie sighed and contemplated the screen for a moment. “Fine. After all, I won’t be there to help fix this.” She got up and left. 

Thanks to a warning from Caitlin, Charlie was able to duck into a restroom, narrowly avoiding Roman striding toward her cubicle. Soon, she joined Caitlin in the van. Just then, Caitlin’s phone went off.

“We got it and left the bigmouths a surprise. Is Charlie out?” Dean’s voice was a mix of glee and concern.

“She’s out,” Caitlin told him.

“Awesome. Meet us at the electronic store.” 

Somehow Charlie had managed to take apart all their borrowed equipment while regularly shouting to Caitlin to ignore the GPS and take alternative routes with fewer traffic cameras.  
They were all bone tired when everything had been returned. Cas zapped them back to the motel room in North Carolina.

“Should we look at the mystery suitcase now or sleep first?” Caitlin yawned before anyone said anything.

“That’s your answer, I guess,” Sam said reluctantly. “I’m dying to know what it is but it might not be safe. We should at least be prepared and able to think on our feet.”

Dean and Charlie expressed their agreement. Then Dean scratched his neck and cleared his throat. “We, um, don’t have enough cash to rent another room for you, Charlie.”

“Isn’t there a cot in Sam’s room?” Caitlin smiled at Charlie and blinked sleepily. When Sam nodded his affirmation, she stumbled into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Dean had to swallow several times to get the gruff words out: “I’ll just get my stuff.”

Charlie gave him a confused look. “Wouldn’t I be using the cot?”

Dean looked at her and the closed bathroom door. “She seems to like you, so I’ll just…”

Charlie crossed her arms over her chest. “That girl is head over heels for you, you daft man-child.” She pointed toward the bathroom and continued: “She’s really awesome, dude, and if I had a snowball’s chance in Hell, I’d be all over her. But my gaydar works just fine. You’d take it up the ass from Star Trek Trench dude before she'd even consider having sex with me.”

Charlie left the room before Dean had time to close his open mouth. Sam followed her hurriedly, giving Dean a cheeky grin over his shoulder as he shut the door behind him.

Dean was still analyzing all the ways Charlie’s words were dead wrong when Caitlin exited the bathroom.

“All yours,” she smiled and gestured behind her.

Dean stared at her. She didn’t notice, simply crawled into the bed and burrowed into the pillow, content. If she felt any disappointment that she’d be sharing the bed with him and not Charlie she hid it incredibly well. Dean rubbed his eyes one-handed and went to brush his teeth.

As soon as he lay down, Caitlin snuggled in close, throwing an arm across his stomach. She sighed and mmh’ed and pecked his cheek before closing her eyes and relaxing.

Despite his exhaustion, it was a long time before Dean fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit January, Monday 23rd.
> 
> I've been extremely stressed in my pesky real life due to an unexpected turn of events. For the first time since I started posting this story, I will have to disappoint you. No new chapter today. I'm working on it and I have faith that it will be done by January 30th.
> 
> Be well and take care of yourselves, everyone :)


	54. Dangerous Knowledge

Caitlin woke with her nose squished against Dean’s armpit. She sucked in a breath and scrunched her face. Super concentrated essence of Dean gone slightly sour was more of a stink than a scent. She untangled herself and paused before leaving the bed. Dean was snoring lightly; you’d think a man his size would make more noise. She watched him for a little while but for once, he seemed to sleep soundly without nightmares. She collected clean clothes from her bag and went for a shower.

Dean still slept when she came back; he hadn’t even moved. She crawled back into bed with him and nestled against him. She planted little kisses on his torso and shoulder and idly began to trace the tattoo over his heart with a finger. 

Dean went instantly from sleeping deeply to fully alert. That wasn’t new. That it wasn’t an ominous sound preceding the need to fight for his life, to protect Sammy; that was new. 

He blinked his eyes open against the fair amount of light streaming through the inadequate curtains. He met Caitlin’s soft gaze and swallowed hard. His enthusiastic morning wood throbbed at the sight of her, hair wet and disheveled from lying down after being combed, her nipples perked up under her clingy, white t-shirt. _Fuck, I’m so in over my head._

“What time is it?” Dean got up on his elbows and looked for himself, clearing his throat against the dry raspiness left by hours of sleep.

“Almost noon. Ah,” Caitlin gasped at a loud banging on their door. There was a quick movement next to her and then Dean had his gun aimed at the unknown threat.

“Hey, sleepyheads.” 

Caitlin and Dean both relaxed at Charlie’s teasing words.

“Let us in, we bring food.”

Caitlin shared a grin with Dean and bounced over to open the door while he tucked the gun away. 

Charlie and Sam entered, arms laden with food. 

Soon they were all seated, Dean and Caitlin on the edge of the bed, Charlie in the chair, and Sam cross-legged on the floor (“Dude, I can see the top of your head,” Charlie exclaimed to everyone’s amusement) eating. They didn’t speak much, all casting frequent glances at the mysterious suitcase from the airport.

“Okay,” Sam said, finally, unfolding himself and collecting food boxes and trash in a bag. “We’ve slept, we’ve eaten. It’s time.” 

Dean nodded. “Right. Charlie, Caitlin, you should go into Sam’s room, redo the salt line at the door and lock it.”

“What?”  
“Why?”

The two women spoke in unison, glaring at Dean.

“Please. We don’t know what it is. It could be dangerous.” His words came out strained. “Sam and I, we’re used to this stuff. Caitlin, you’ve seen some shit by now, but nothing like this has the potential to be. I don’t want you in here.” Dean’s shoulders tensed as he glared right back at Caitlin. Then he tilted his head slightly in Charlie’s direction.

Caitlin’s eyes narrowed. Then she glanced at Charlie. When Dick Roman had been headed Charlie’s way last night, Caitlin’s heart had hammered its way halfway through her chest and she had barely been able to breathe. 

Caitlin’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “If we hear screaming we’ll come running anyway, Numbnuts.” She grabbed Charlie’s hand and dragged her toward the door. “Let’s leave the boys to their toys. Too bad we don’t have a hidden camera somewhere. I bet it’ll be better than an episode of Jackass.”

Charlie looked back at the brothers almost apologetically, as she was pulled out of the room. “You’re really letting him tell you what to do?” She asked Caitlin as she shut the door behind them.

“On the rare occasion that I understand his reasoning.” Caitlin hadn’t walked further away from the door, however. She put a finger to her lips, signaling Charlie to keep quiet.

Charlie nodded her understanding with a mischievous smile.

XOXOX

“Morgan speaking.”

 _“What, no greetings for your working girl?”_ Penelope’s teasing pout needed no video link to come through.

“Sorry, honey pants, you’re not the only one working.” If he could just believe that this was a social call, he might not have had to force himself to smile.

_“Well, I have no doubts about that. I’m looking at some pretty impressive work right now, and I think I’m gonna have to hold you to your promise about an explanation. I trust you but this is… What the hell is going on?”_

“Garcia… I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

_“The hell you are. You had me erase security footage of you with Sarah Mitchell before she was kidnapped. Then she’s rescued by mysterious vigilantes while you guys were in California and they contacted you. You tell me to dig deep on the Mitchells and their hideout and suddenly we’re hauling in human traffickers bordering on slave traders. And now? Now there’s a so-called CIA agent interested in the witness interrogation and the most impressive hack-job I’ve ever seen with a completely bizarre cover story for recent inexplicable events. Then I go and search the databases for this Agent Smith dude and guess who’s file shows up? Dean fucking Winchester’s, you hear? Only it’s Smith’s mugshot on it and not Winchester’s. And I can’t even find evidence that his file has been tampered with. We looked at it just last week, Morgan. We all know what the real Dean Winchester looks like so why has his picture been swapped out with Agent Smith’s? Who happens to be a Dean, by the way. You better tell me everything you know or my head will explode!”_

“We can’t talk about this on the phone, Penelope!”

_“Pff, I’m confused, not retarded. I’ve scrambled the hell out of this call, no one’s listening.”_

“Didn’t expect anything less from you,” Morgan replied gruffly. “But I don’t want to have this conversation like this.”

_“I figured. I’m heading up in a few hours. Gonna be helping with the pervs. So I’m giving you a heads up. Better be ready to spill everything tonight.”_

“Yes, ma’am.” Derek ended the call with a soft smile.

XOXOX

“Cas, you here?” Dean looked around the room, squaring his shoulders.

Sam shook his head and shrugged. 

“Castiel, Angel of the Lord, would you honor us with your presence or whatever the fuck we’re supposed to say to get some celestial superpowers at our backs?”

Cas materialized in front of Dean, a mere foot away, squinting intensely at his friend. 

Dean gave a violent start. “Goddammit, Cas. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“I believe that would be counterproductive. What do you want me to do?” 

“Just… just stand there and look pretty when we open this thing and if something iffy comes out, make sure the girls are safe. They’re -”

“-right outside the door, eavesdropping. I shall do my best to protect all of you, if necessary.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean squeezed Cas’ shoulder as he stepped around him to grab the suitcase.

“Yeah, thanks man,” Sam chimed in, patting Cas’ other shoulder as he positioned himself next to his brother.

Dean frowned at him. “Dude. It’s not a lightbulb and I’m not Polish.”

Sam merely raised an eyebrow. “Neither am I, you should stand back a little.”

“Screw that.” Dean scowled and then deftly picked the lock on the suitcase. “Ready?”

When both Sam and Cas nodded, he opened the lid. holding his breath. Inside was something vaguely rectangular wrapped in a white cloth. 

Sam made a small protesting sound when Dean reached for the object and started unwrapping it. 

Dean ignored his brother, too excited to worry about gloves. The last of the cloth fell away to reveal a red, clay square.

“The fuck is this?” Dean tapped it, testing the sound. “Sounds hollow.” Before Sam could stop him, he bashed the thing against the edge of the open suitcase. It shattered to reveal a stone the size of an Xbox. The surface was obsidian black, smooth and shiny, and every inch was covered in strange runes. Dean ran his hands over the stone, at once sleek and ridged. “This doesn’t look like much. Dammit.”

Behind him, Castiel dropped to the floor, unconscious.

XOXOX

Caitlin started guiltily at Castiel’s muffled declaration on the other side of the door. When the door wasn’t thrown open immediately, she sighed in relief.  
She exchanged amused glances with Charlie at the brothers’ banter and then held her breath. When she heard the disappointment in Dean’s voice a bit later, she shook her head sadly.

Then there was the characteristic thump of a body hitting the floor _(do I recognize it because of my medical training or because of this past month?)_ and Dean’s frantic shouts for Cas.

Without a second glance at Charlie, Caitlin burst into the room. 

Dean kneeled next to Cas, patting his face repeatedly, Sam stopped his strides toward the door abruptly as Caitlin entered. She vaguely registered something black and heavy-looking in his hands, then she knelt across from Dean.

“What happened?”

“No idea, he just went lights out. We weren’t near him or anything.” Dean gave her a pleading look. “What’s wrong with him?”

Caitlin found a strong, regular pulse, somewhat faster than that of an average human being. The temperature was higher than normal but was that perhaps simply an angel thing? Castiel’s breathing was as normal and healthy as his pulse.

“Dean, do you happen to know if it’s normal for Cas to be warmer than humans? Do you know anything about angels’ heart rates? Because I don’t. I specialize in humans.” Her wide eyes and the tremor in her voice negated any hint of snark in her words.

Dean stared back at her, then down at his friend. “Come on, Cas.” He slapped Cas’ cheek slightly harder once, then fisted his hands in the trench coat above the angel’s shoulders and simply held on.

“Unbutton his shirt.”

Dean’s and Caitlin’s eyes shot up to Sam, a frown and a raised eyebrow mirrored their unvoiced questions. Dean’s gaze slid down to the black stone in Sam’s hands, widening at the sight of blood running across the inscriptions.

“Please, Dean.” Sam stood over them, impassive, ignoring the drops of blood splattering the floor underneath him.

The hairs on Caitlin’s arms and on the back of her neck stood. Bobby’s mirage flickered behind Sam, shoulders slumped and face stricken. Still, he nodded once as if approving Sam’s request. Caitlin opened the buttons, her hands shaking and clumsy.

Somewhere close to the door, Charlie whimpered softly and pressed her fist to her mouth to muffle the sound.

When Caitlin made room, Sam fell to his knees, hard. Clutching the stone in his left hand, he drew sigils on Cas’ chest and stomach with his bleeding right hand. Placing his palm in the middle of the scrawlings, he activated the sigil.

Castiel seized and coughed. He opened his eyes to find Sam’s bloody hand hovering over him, unblinking eyes staring but not really seeing.

“Sam,” Cas croaked. “Sam, what have you done?”

Sam’s vacant stare focused on Cas, a questioning frown wrinkling his forehead.

Cas pointed at the stone. “What did you do?”

 **“Bamesa, Castiel. Bamesa doalimni. Dooaip balatune, ciaosi canilu. Bamesa.”** Sam’s words held a strange echo as if another voice spoke them simultaneously. 

Cas made an agonized keening noise and hid his face in his hands. He stayed like that, half sitting, half lying on the floor, that heartbreaking sound from deep in his throat continuing. 

Sam’s eyes widened in shock. “I can’t hear you. Cas, I can’t hear you.”

Dean was on his feet instantly, catching Sam just as his knees gave out. “It’s okay, Sammy. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” He half carried, half dragged Sam to the bed and got him to sit. Squeezing Sam’s shoulders, he repeated his promise. “We’ll fix it.”

Sam shut his eyes tightly then opened them again after only a few seconds, breathing fast. “I can’t hear anything. Just His voice. He drowns out everything else.”

Dean’s face fell, his entire body slumping. “Lucifer? You’re hearing Lucifer again?”

Sam frowned in concentration, eyes widening with recognition. “No.” He shook his head violently. “No, not Lucifer.” He screwed his eyes shut and put his hands over his ears. “I know, I know, I know!” After a few harsh breaths he opened his eyes again, taking in Dean’s shocked expression. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Yahweh.” 

Sam’s eyes rolled back and he collapsed on the bed. A trickle of blood ran from his ears and stained the covers. 

Dean stood frozen, eyes glued to Sam’s still form on the bed. 

Bobby showed up next to him. “He’ll wake up. Probably.”

When Dean didn’t react, Caitlin spoke. “What happened?” 

Bobby shook his head sadly. “Sam fucking Winchester happened. You boys,” he muttered darkly. “You always mess with things you don’t understand, never mind the consequences.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean turned to Bobby, eyes narrowed, his words more growled than spoken.

“Oh, he meant well. You always mean well. Idjits.” 

Dean crossed his arms in front of him, the corners of his mouth turned down. “If you know what’s going on, then say it.”

“That thing you found? That’s the word of God.” Bobby pointed to the black stone that Sam still clutched to his chest even unconscious.

At the mention of God, Dean scoffed.

“It’s not written in Enochian or any other known language. Remember that movie we watched when you and Sam holed up after…” At the dangerous glint in Dean’s eyes, Bobby trailed off, the words _‘losing John’_ unspoken.  
“The movie. Nerd and kickass hottie chasing after some biblical shit. The guy had that line, what was it.” Bobby rolled his eyes and made his voice higher. “I did it, I learned the language of the birds in two hours and I didn’t even use a Rosetta stone.” Bobby shook his head in disgust. “Worst bullcrap I ever heard. Your brother’s smart, Dean. He could’ve done it, too, deciphered the language on that thing. In a couple of decades, maybe.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest but Bobby cut him short. “You know the difference between fiction and reality, don’t make this about your brother. Besides, it’s irrelevant. Sam decided to take a shortcut.”

Caitlin had checked Sam’s vitals while Bobby spoke. The man might be dead but she agreed with his prediction - Sam would probably wake up, nothing seemed to be physically wrong, at least. Now, she went to Dean’s side and gently took his hand. She looked at Bobby expectantly. “How?”

“He used blood and power of will and prayer, I think. I’m not sure how it works or how the fuck he even thought of it.” Bobby eyed Sam’s unconscious form. “Now it’s bound to him. And he to it.”

XOXOX

Penelope Garcia stared at her friend and coworker open mouthed. “You bloody bastard! You teased the crap out of me for worrying that my new place was haunted.”

Derek ducked his head. “I’m sorry. But I did ask the Winchesters for help and we didn’t find anything.”

Garcia sputtered. “You... They… My home? You asked infamous criminals to break into my home?”

“They didn’t. I just borrowed their EMF-meter. And you gave me the key yourself, remember?” 

Garcia opened her mouth again, index finger raised at Morgan but he cut her short.

“I had to look out for my girl, didn’t I?”

She sighed and shook her head sadly. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“ _If_ you had believed me, how many full nights of sleep would you have had since then?”

Garcia’s eyes widened in horror and she covered her open mouth with both her hands. “You’re right. Oh my God, you’re right. Christ, Morgan, why are you telling me now?”

He smiled softly and took her hands, gently removing them from her face. “We’ve both seen a lot since then, haven’t we? Been through too much shit to get scared of yet another boogeyman, dontcha think?”

“You’ve just insinuated that said boogeyman is real.”

“He is. But he is in no way scarier than the ones we deal with each and every day, Penny. Real monsters are dangerous because it’s their nature to kill but they’re no way near as frightening as humans _choosing_ to become monsters.”

Garcia nodded solemnly. Then suddenly she started giggling. “I’m sorry,” she hiccuped. “But imagine Animal Planet covering monsters and their habits.” She made her voice a bit deeper and narrated. “Today we see the vampire Lestat, hunting the suburbs for easy prey. He ducks into the shadows as he spots a target meandering down the street.” She burst out laughing.

Derek merely responded with a pinched smile. “If Lestat had any brains, he’d eat the narrator and run off to another city.”

Penelope placed a hand over her heart and pouted. “You wound me, Derek. You wound me deeply.”

Derek shook his head at her antiques, smiling.

Penelope schooled her face back into seriousness. “Now, can you tell me how your statement that ghosts and monsters are real relates to the mess we’re in now?”

“Come on, Penny. You’ve seen the recording of Dean Winchester in Baltimore. You saw Gideon and Hotchner’s reactions to it. You’re smart. Figure it out.” Derek leaned back and waited.

Penelope’s eyes widened in shock. “The Winchesters aren’t delusional serial killers?”

“No, they’ve saved a lot of lives over the years. Mine included.”

“But what about all the times they’ve died?”

“It’s been impersonators that bought it while wearing their likenesses, like in St. Louis, when Dean got his first death certificate or this last time with all the black goo instead of blood. The serial killers earlier this year were shapeshifting monsters, too, not robots.”

“I want to believe you but it’s so farfetched…”

“I know. Do you want to meet them?”

“Meet them?” Garcia blinked and fidgeted a bit. “What if you’re wrong about them?”

“I’ve known them for a very long time, Penny. Longer than you and I’ve known each other. And some of the things they’re doing at the moment are way above my very limited hunting paygrade. I can’t explain things to you the way they can.”

He got to his feet and offered his hand to her. “Come on. They’re not far from here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, here it is :)  
> And it's official. I'll never be able to round off this story, I'm afraid. Writer's block on top of IRL events forced me to deviate from my beautiful, detailed, perfectly fine outline and follow where inspiration took me.  
> Damn you, Sammy. Why'd ya hafta go and be the hero again, huh?   
> \- Oh and if you don't want to trawl the Internet for the translation of the Enochian words, their meaning WILL be revealed in the next chapter :)


	55. Absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but at least I didn't split it in two. I'm really fighting to get something out every week at the moment. However, it's very satisfactory when I succeed - even if it's crap compared to my normal standards. I WILL finish this story. Then, I will go back and revise the shit out of it until I'm proud of it.
> 
> Thank you for reading, for staying with me. We'll get there. Promise. I just don't know how long it will take, anymore. But I'll try my damnedest to publish something every Monday until the finishing line.

Cas was still frozen on the floor, face hidden. Charlie reluctantly crossed the floor to his side, not bothering to actually stand up.

“What’s wrong?” She tried to pry his hands from his face and he twisted away from her. “Stop that. Are you hurt?”

“Hurt. So much hurt. I should not be here. Why? Why restore me this time? This is my punishment. No amount of suffering will ever right the wrongs I’ve done.” Cas folded even further in on himself. “His words. They are burning me,” he whispered into his rumpled coat.

Charlie stared at him, mouth slightly open. “Did you hit your head?” She looked around and noticed Caitlin and Dean talking to the transparent dude that had shown up and scared the crap out of her. As if the angel in front of her and his teleporting abilities wasn’t freaking her the fuck out already. “Doc! Caitlin! A little help, please?”

Caitlin turned to Charlie’s voice and then toward the last remaining lightbulb above her. It was off and doing nothing as it should be. She shrugged, squeezed Dean’s hand once and went over to Charlie and Cas. “I’m not sure I can help him, Charlie. I don’t know anything about angels.” She knelt next across from Charlie and placed a gentle hand on Cas’ shoulder. “Cas, Castiel, hey. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I am flawed. Undeserving. I belong in the pit.” Cas’ gravelly voice came out hollow and flat.

Caitlin considered him for a moment. Then she stood and went to Dean’s side. Bobby was gone again and Dean was brushing a lock of Sam’s hair away from his closed eyes. “Dean.”

Dean showed no sign of having heard her. 

Caitlin stroked her fingers lightly over his stubbled jaw. “Dean. Let him sleep. I could really use your help real quick.”

Dean finally looked at her, his eyes glistening and his mouth and chin wobbly. A sob broke ripped out of his throat and he wiped his eyes with thumb and index finger, shaking his head reflexively. When he looked at her again, his words came out scratchy and broken. “I just had him back. I’m s’posed to look after him, Caitie. Now he’s gone again. Fuck, I just want my brother.”

Caitlin wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a fierce hug. He was shaking, breaths hitching as he clung to her. “He’s going to be fine. We’ll help him. Right now, he just needs a little rest, okay?”

Dean nodded against the crook of her neck. “Okay,” he mumbled.

“I’ve got you,” Caitlin murmured. “You’re not alone. We’ll do whatever it takes, right?”

Dean stiffened in her arms. He pulled away slowly, his movements jerky with tension. “Right. Yeah, sure.” He sounded sincere but didn’t meet her eyes. He rolled his shoulders a couple of times, kept his gaze on the steady rising and falling of Sam’s chest for long seconds, before meeting Caitlin’s eyes. 

Caitlin blinked in surprise. Dean’s expression was shuttered, cold. Determined.

“You wanted my help?” 

Caitlin blinked again. She swallowed against a lump in her throat and nodded. “It’s Cas. He’s kind of hysterical. He said something yesterday about letting you down. Maybe you can get through to him.”

Dean followed her gaze to the corner where Cas huddled, Charlie hunched over him but completely ignored. He gave Caitlin a curt nod and went to nudge Carlie out of the way. He managed to find enough room to sit down next to Cas, shoulder to shoulder. He elbowed Cas in the ribs, hard. “Cas. What’s up.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah, man, it’s me. You wanna tell me what’s gotten your panties in a twist?”

Cas’ hands flew from his face his eyes round with astonishment. “What makes you think I am wearing panties? I am wearing boxer shorts and they are not twisted. They are snug and comfortable.”

Dean’s eyes widened in a comical response to Castiel’s. His mouth opened, then closed again, then opened. Finally, he started laughing so hard he shook with it. He threw his head back against the wall and snorted, practically howled and snorted again. Eventually, his outburst quieted down into fits of giggles and snickering.

Cas regarded him impassively until Dean seemed to be back in control of himself. “Did I say something funny?”

“Na, man. You were just… being excessively you. Did I mention how much I fucking missed you after… all these months?”

“You should hate me. Dean, I betrayed you. I… I hurt Sam, I hurt innocent people. I… I killed angels. So many.”

“I don’t hate you. I’ve been really angry and maybe, maybe I still am, some of the time. But I get it, Cas. I know you felt like you had no other choice. I know you didn’t take any joy from it and I know you meant to fix things again right after. What happened after the ritual… that wasn’t really you. I don’t blame you for those things and neither should you.”

“Why not? I performed the ritual, I consumed all the souls of Purgatory, knowing it was risky. Sure, I was desperate to win the war against Raphael and keep him from restarting the Apocalypse, but you were right then. You were my friends. I should have come to you for help instead of going behind your backs.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson. Can we skip this blame-game, Cas? I can play on my own well enough.”

“I am sorry. I was overwhelmed. The sense of my Father is very strong with the tablet here.”

“Yeah, about that. Did you understand what Sam said before he passed out?”

Cas closed his eyes and pinched his lips. “They were for me. He said: Forget, Castiel. Forget your sins, committed in the name of righteous fury, of justice, sins of terror and spilled blood. Forget.”

“God spoke through Sammy?” Dean’s eyes bulged and he clenched his fists. _Soulless he was bad. Lucifer riding shotgun was scary. Speaking God’s words? Fuck._

Cas shook his head slightly. “It is complicated. The tablet is meant to enhance the powers of a true prophet. Its knowledge is meant to be gleaned from years of hard study combined with the gift of God’s good will. Sam was not born a prophet and he somehow fused the essence of the tablet with his own soul. The words may have been his own, spoken with conviction enough to activate the tablet or they may have been channeled through him because of the tablet’s connection to God.”

“That was a lot of words just to say we’re screwed. We gotta undo whatever Sam did.”

“Ag.” The word echoed through the room, barely louder than a whisper but somehow deafening, anyway.

Everyone whipped around to watch Sam rise from the bed. His eyes were shining with white light, his movements mechanical. “Iadnahmad - abaramig” 

“Sam,” Cas spoke firmly. “We will find another way to fight. This is not the way.”

The light grew stronger, blinding. “Darbeis, nocore.” 

All color drained from Castiel’s face. “Yes, Father.”

“Ag. Sam. Bial de Yahve.” The light faded from Sam’s eyes and his voice came out less formidable. “I am my own person, still.” Sam blinked and looked around. “Guys. What’s going on?”

Dean grabbed Sam’s face between his hands, staring him down. “You’re an idiot, that’s what’s going on. The hell were you thinking, playing around with that thing?” He pointed to the tablet in Sam’s left hand.

Sam’s forehead creased. “I can’t hear you.” 

Dean gaped at him and let go. “Don’t start, bitch. I’m telling you, bleeding on powerful objects is on the shitlist from now on.”

Sam shook his head as if clearing it. “Dean, I can see your mouth moving but I can’t hear anything. Tell me you’re messing with me. Please?”

Dean spun and slammed his fist into the nearest wall, putting a substantial dent in the plaster. “God dammit, Sammy.”

Caitlin wordlessly handed him the mandatory motel notepad and pen.

Dean’s shoulders slumped and he wrote with fast, jerky movements.

DID YOU KNOW?

He held the paper up for Sam to read.

Sam frowned. “Know what, Dean?”

WHAT WOULD HAPPEN

Sam shook his head. “It was sort of a spur of the moment thing. I’m not sure why I even thought to do it, really. It just popped into my head and I figured it couldn’t hurt to try.” Sam looked even more confused at his own words. “That’s not my usual MO, is it?”

“Hell no,” Dean said before remembering himself and shaking his head.

Sam simply shrugged. “Well, I know what to do about the Leviathans now. They’ll be easy to deal with if they’re without leadership. Let’s take Dick Roman down and we can worry about the rest later.”

Dean’s eyes widened. He pursed his lips and nodded. “Okay. Yeah. Later, Samantha. Numbskull. Geekboy. You sure about that?”

Sam pinched his lips together and tilted his head. “If you think I don’t know when you’re calling me derogatory names just from looking at you, you’re not as smart as I thought.”

Dean answered him with a lopsided smirk and a wink. Then he wrote another question.

HOW DO WE SQUASH THE DICK SMART-ASS?

Sam opened his mouth to answer but stopped when Dean’s head whipped around at the sound of a knock on the door.

Charlie was about to open when Dean stopped her. “Wait.” He pulled his gun out and leaned against the wall next to the door. “Who’s there,” he shouted.

“Morgan. Got a favor to ask.”

Dean nodded at Charlie who opened the door. When Morgan didn’t immediately enter, Dean stepped forward, gun cocked and ready. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of a short, curvy blonde next to Morgan, gaping up at him with horror. 

“Paranoid much?” Morgan sighed.

“Keeps me alive. Wash up, both of you.”

Caitlin appeared behind Dean and tossed a small container with soap to Morgan. 

Morgan promptly rubbed some soap on his hands before turning to the blonde. “I’ll explain later, Penny. Just put this on and he’ll put the gun away, okay.”

Garcia was still staring at Dean. “What’s Agent Smith doing here?” she asked in a small voice.

Morgan frowned. “That’s Dean Winchester.”

Garcia shook her head violently. “No. That’s Agent Smith, the guy who’s picture has replaced Winchester’s. You said you’d give me answers, Derek. This is _not_ answers.”

Looking mystified, Morgan simply smeared some soap on Garcia’s wrist. 

When nothing happened, Dean put the safety back on and tucked his gun away. “Sorry. Can’t be too careful. What did you want from us? We’re kind of in the middle of something.”

“Oh. Well, Garcia here, she helped me a lot when Caitlin went missing at first. And with all the stuff that you’ve been messing around with these past few days, she felt she needed to know what was going on. I can’t say that I blame her.”

“So what, you just thought you’d bring another FBI agent to our doorstep and trust us to be convincing?” Dean scowled.

“I told her the basics. But I can’t explain why she’s apparently seeing someone else when you look perfectly normal to me - and thanks for nearly giving me a heart attack, just walking into the interview yesterday, by the way. So yeah, I was hoping you’d help me with that one before she tattles that someone hacked into the CIA’s files. And since when did Sam start a cyber crime career?” 

Dean ran a hand over his eyes tiredly. “Fuck it. Fuck my life. Fuck me for sounding like an emo goth kid. Just get in, you two.” He stepped aside and motioned for Morgan and Garcia to enter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Enochian words are:  
> Ag = No  
> Iadnahmad - abaramig = knowledge - preparation (roughly translated)  
> Darbeis, nocore = Obey, servant (roughly translated)  
> Bial de Yahve = Voice of God (roughly translated)


	56. Allies and a Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it. And it came easier than the last chapter. I can do this. I can :D

“Woah,” Charlie said, eyeing the newcomers. “Getting crowded in here.”

Sam raised a questioning eyebrow at Dean, who picked up the notebook and wrote:

MORGAN’S FRIEND KNOWS AB. CIA HACK. NEEDS TO KNOW THE TRUTH.

Sam frowned. “Could you be a bit more specific? I mean not that I’m against the whole truth and nothing but it would just take a lot of time, you know.” He shrugged apologetically at Garcia.

She was gaping. “That’s Sam Winchester.”

Derek put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Yes, Penny.”

She glanced at the notebook, Dean was scribbling in furiously. “Why is he doing that?”

Charlie answered. “Because Sam can’t hear anything. He pulled some magic trick and now he rambles crazy stuff half the time and his eyes glow.”

“Who are _you_?” Morgan asked her, eyes bugging.

“I’m Charlie. For now. Definitely changing my name and birthdate when this is over.” Charlie nodded to herself. “I could be a Kim, couldn’t I? Or maybe Denise, that’s a nice name isn’t it?” 

Caitlin put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “I like Charlie. You’re babbling, by the way,” she said with a small smile.

“Sorry.” Charlie nodded, rolled her shoulders and hugged herself. “I get nervous every time the a… Castiel does that thing, you know. And the last hour has been a lot for me.” Charlie took some time to really stare at Caitlin. “Seriously, how can you be so calm?”

Caitlin squeezed Charlie’s arm and giggled. “I’ve had weeks of practice. You should have seen me after I met my first ghost.” She looked around and noted that Charlie was right: Cas had disappeared at some point, probably at the knock on the door.

Caitlin shared a smile with Charlie as they watched Garcia sputter and eventually snap: “Have you all gone completely and collectively insane?”

Dean snorted. “I wish.”

Mogan rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. With a sigh, he turned to Dean. “Could you start with the identity confusion, please?”

“Easy. Cas, I mean Castiel, the Angel of Thursday, put an optic illusion on me so I could help Caitlin at the interview. It only works on people who don’t know me. That’s why you see my usual pretty face and she sees something else.”

Morgan’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Did you say angel? I didn’t think you believed in that, what did you call it back then? Religious crap?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… that was before the apocalypse.” At Morgan’s incredulous expression, Dean continued: “The biblical one, I mean. There was a shit storm of angels and a prophet and Lucifer walked the earth. Tons of fun. Cas helped shut it down.”

“I think we should meet and catch up a bit more often,” Morgan said.

Dean looked out the window. “Na, man. Not much to tell, anyway.”

“Dean.” Caitlin had snuck under his arm and wrapped an arm around him. “Please?”

“No!” Dean scowled at her but didn’t move away from her. “It’s over. No one wants to hear about that shit.”

“I do.”

“You really, really don’t, Caitie.”

“Why?”

Helplessly, Caitlin watched Dean shot down completely and turn to Garcia. “Listen, Sweetheart, I’d love to plead my questionable sanity to you all day but we were kind of in the middle of planning the next big boss fight. Talk to the others, observe, form your own opinion, got it?”

Garcia nodded dumbly, mouth hanging open, eyes following Dean as he turned to Sam and picked up the notebook and pointed at his last question.

Sam answered calmly: “We need the bone of a saint, dipped in the blood of an angel and the blood of a demon. Then we melt down Bobby’s flask and cover the tip in that.”

“But Bobby’s tethered to the flask. That would destroy his soul.” Dean had forgotten that Sam couldn’t hear but apparently, that wasn’t a problem this time. 

Sam’s eyes began to glow and his voice echoed. “No. It will send his soul to Heaven where it belongs. The hate and spite and thirst for revenge that has already begun to eat at Bobby’s spirit will be the shackle that binds Roman to his vessel.”

The glow faded and Sam spoke normally, once again. “When he’s bound to the vessel, we can behead him, douse him in borax, and bury pieces of him all over the continent.”

Dean was about to protest some more when Bobby showed up to simply nod his head twice, face serene and almost smiling, before fading away again. 

In the background, Charlie and Garcia both squeaked.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, shook his head slightly and took a deep breath before squaring his shoulders. “Won’t the other Leviathans try to put him back together?”

Sam pointed impatiently at the notebook and Dean grumbled about inconsistent deafness as he scribbled the words.

Sam read the question and shrugged. “Probably. But as more and more of them suffer the same fate it will be mighty difficult for them to find the right pieces, don’t you think?”

Dean nodded with a smirk. “I guess.” A worry line appeared on his forehead. “I just wish we could do something more permanent.”

“No,” Sam said, looking sad and exhausted. “You really, really don’t.”

Meanwhile, Garcia had listened, had analyzed what she heard and compared it to what Morgan had already told her. It was crazy, crazy and scary and impossible but it was true. Every word, every scary detail, glowing eyes and ghosts included, it all added up. She stared at the men in front of her and something seemed to shimmer and break.

“You’re Dean Winchester,” she blurted when the face of Agent Dean Smith morphed into the well-known outlaw.

He raised his head quickly from the notepad he was scribbling on, to grin at her and give her a thumbs up sign.

Garcia turned to Morgan. “That’s Dean Winchester.”

Morgan nodded, expression cautious. 

“That’s Dean Winchester and that’s Sam Winchester and it sounds like they’re plotting to kill the richest man in the US.”

Morgan nodded again and bit his lip.

“I _knew_ that guy was bad news.” Garcia ignored Morgan’s baffled look and turned to Charlie. “Nice work at the CIA. If you do another mock-attack they’ll restart their systems and the changes you made will be untraceable.”

“Thanks,” Charlie gushed. “I wanted to but I didn’t have enough juice to pull the diversions needed. All I had was that one.” She pointed to the laptop bag resting in a corner.

Garcia’s eyes widened. “You hacked CIA with just a laptop?”

Charlie blushed. “I just went through their standard gateways instead of going through the firewall.”

Garcia frowned. “Then you’d have to know the correct username and password for someone with a lot of clearance.”

Charlie shrugged. “It’s not my fault the director hadn’t changed it since I hacked them the last time.”

“Last time?” Garcia quirked an eyebrow at Charlie.

“A couple of days ago I found some pretty unbelievable information about my boss, Dick Roman. I still had my own stuff then so I checked FBI, NSA, Interpol, Home Security, CIA and fucking NASA for confirmation. They’re all clueless, by the way.”

Garcia nodded, her expression saying _how could you expect different_ when Dean interrupted.

“Listen up, Ladies.” He smirked at Morgan and continued. “We’ve got a recipe for Leviathan soup. You can run along or help us with the grocery list. Choice is yours.”

“I’ll help if I can,” Caitlin immediately said.

“What she said,” Charlie nodded.

“If there’s anything I can do when I’m off duty,” Morgan said and thrust his hip out while putting his hand on it, thoroughly embracing his newfound title as a lady just to mess with Dean.

“As long as I can hide behind a screen and do my real job, too,” Garcia declared.

Dean looked at all of them one by one, an unspoken question in his eyes. “You sure about that? Really?”

“Of course we want to help.” Caitlin smiled at his stunned expression. “We’re glad you asked us.”

He nodded, still perplexed. “Okay. Um, right. We need a box from a storage room in New York containing a human femur of a saintified nun.” 

As Dean drew in a breath to continue the list, Cas showed up by the door, holding an old wooden box. “The femur of Katharine Drexel, as requested.”

While Garcia and Morgan stood speechless, Dean walked over to accept the box. “Thanks, Cas. Boy, that was fast. Could you, you know. I mean, do you mind bleeding a bit for us again?”

Cas gave Dean a fond smile. “Gladly, my friend.” He seemed to conjure a glass from thin air and as they watched it filled with blood. He offered it to Dean who fumbled a bit with the wooden box before dumping it in Caitlin’s arms.

Dean took the blood filled glass. “Thank you.” He looked around and zeroed in on the room’s mini fridge. Carefully putting the blood inside, he stood and looked at the notebook again.

“Okay, next is some demon blood and then we need to find somewhere remote and get a nice hot fire going.” He held a hand over his pocket, trembling slightly. “Finally, we need to figure out a way to get Roman out in the open with minimum security.”

Charlie and Garcia exchanged looks.

“Leave that to us,” Charlie smirked.

“Okay. Great. I guess all we need is demon blood, then, before going on a picnic. That was… easier than expected.”

Dean scratched out the items on the list already accounted for and showed it to Sam, who nodded.

Sam left the room shortly, then came back with the spray paint from his duffel. Wordlessly he shooed everyone away from the largest free space and painted a devil’s trap on the floor.

“Do you know what he’s doing?” Caitlin whispered to Dean.

Dean scowled. “If I’m not mistaken he’s going to summon a demon. Bloody show-off. Let’s get everyone out of here.”

Just then, Sam started chanting, the latin flowing from his lips quickly and effortlessly. 

Dean ordered everyone to relocate to the small room next door, offering no explanations as to why. As soon as he could, he returned to stand by Sam’s side.

Within minutes, a young dark-haired woman appeared in the devil’s trap, looking scared and confused.

“Meg,” Sam smirked. “Long time no see. Are you up for some fun?”

“Why, Sammy, my boy,” the demon drawled back at him, all signs of fear quickly hidden away. “Have you changed your mind about me?”

Sam rolled his eyes and gestured at Dean to continue the conversation.

“I’m pretty sure Sam always thought you looked your best bloody, Meg.” He held up an empty water bottle. “But this time, all you have to do is bleed this half full. Then we’ll let you go.”

Meg cackled in disbelief. “Right. Just give you my blood like it holds no power over me whatsoever and then you’ll let me simply waltz right out of here? Try again, Deano, and cut the bullshit this time.”

“Give us your blood so we can kill Dick Roman and we’ll exorcise you back to hell and you can crawl back out. You’re good at that, aren’t you?”

“No. If I do this, you let me fucking go. I won’t bother you but I’m not going back to hell.”

“Don’t talk like you’re calling the shots, Meg. We can just take it instead.” Dean drew a knife from his boot and tested its edge to demonstrate what he meant.

She tilted her head and looked at him, looked through him. As she opened her mouth to speak, undoubtedly the usual vile psychological crap mixture of truths and lies that demons were masters of, Sam coughed. Her eyes slid sideways and she recoiled in horror. Saying nothing else, she looked pleadingly at Dean.

He tossed the bottle into the trap with a smirk.

Meg curled in on herself as far from Sam as she could get and used a long fingernail to open a vein. She collected the blood in the bottle and rolled it back to Dean.  
She gave Sam another scared glance and steeled herself.

Dean opened his mouth to start the exorcism.

Meg looked up at him, a strange vulnerability in her expression. “Say hi to Clarence for me,” she said.

Dean stood, dumbstruck, suddenly reminded of one of the weirdest things he had witnessed in a lifetime of weird. Meg kissing Cas back then to steal his blade had made sense but Cas… Cas had kissed her back, fervently so.

“Why don’t you tell him yourself,” Dean muttered, suddenly convinced that the angel was there, unseen.

Cas appeared as expected. With a sigh, he stepped across the boundary of the sigil and offered his hand to Meg. “I will take her somewhere far from here.”

Dean bit his tongue to keep from arguing how wrong being considerate to a demon was. Sam stood impassively next to him and when Dean chanced a look at him, he was bleeding from his ear again. When he looked back at the trap, it was empty.


	57. Revenge of the Techies

WE KNOW HOW TO TAKE OUT DICK - LET’S FIND A WAY TO GET YOU BACK TO NORMAL.

“No. You have no idea how much knowledge I have ready access to right now, Dean. Faster than the Internet and so much more powerful. Not being able to hear is a tiny price to pay, okay?”

WE DON’T KNOW IF THAT’S THE ONLY PRICE. BITCH.

Sam chuckled. “True. But fuck, Dean, even if the price is my life, it’s worth it.”

Dean stood and ran a hand over his mouth. He shook his head. “No, dammit. Nothing is worth that. He took in the stubborn set of Sam’s mouth and sighed. He raised a finger at his little brother. “This discussion is _not_ over.”

Sam met Dean’s glare with a stony expression. “Whatever you just said, this discussion is over. You can help me get back to normal the day I’ve transferred this knowledge to a database and not a second sooner.”

Dean threw his arms up and left, slamming the door behind him.

Outside in the hallway, he could hear the chatter from Sam’s room. Unprepared to face Caitlin’s worry, the tech girls’ geekspeak, and Morgan’s likely questions about what to do next, Dean went outside to the parking lot. 

He kicked the tires of the piece of shit car they had driven in. He got behind the wheel and pulled out Bobby’s old flask. Instead of drinking, he put it on the passenger seat.  
“Are you really okay with us melting that thing and sending you topward?”

Bobby showed up in the seat next to him. Dean rubbed his hands together against the cold.

“I ain’t gonna lie, I’d feel better ‘bout it if we could undo whatever Sam did first. But yeah, I’m okay with it.”

“He won’t listen to me.”

“You’re the only one he’ll ever listen to. He’ll come ‘round, Dean.”

Dean didn’t say anything. He had his hands on the wheel as if driving, fingers drumming unconsciously against the hard plastic. He glanced sideways at Bobby, colorless and more transparent than ever in the sunlight.

“I’ll miss you.”

Bobby snorted. “Son, I’m already dead. I can’t whack your head for being an idjit, anyway.”

Dean nodded his agreement and swallowed hard. “Right. Bobby, I…”

“I’m gonna stop ya right there before you go ‘n embarrass us both. C’mon, kid, you know ya don’t hafta say it.” 

Dean met Bobby’s eyes and nodded again. “Thanks.”

“Now git, son. I believe you have an old friend waiting to be avenged.” Bobby disappeared.

Still, it was a while before Dean moved.

XOXOX

Caitlin watched Dean sitting in the car. She didn’t like how lost he looked. They had a plan, had everything they needed to set it in motion. Why wasn’t he in here, yelling at them to get moving?

The door to the room opened to reveal Sam. He stood in the doorway, regarding every person in the room for long seconds. “We’ve got everything,” he finally said. “We should get started.”

Sam pointed at Charlie and Garcia. “You two, work your magic, get Dick Roman out in the open sometime tomorrow, okay?”

The girls nodded silently.

Sam looked at Morgan. “I know nonhuman monsters aren’t your forte but I trust you to have their backs, got it?”

Morgan gave a curt nod.

“Caitlin you can stay with the others or come with us. But I warn you. Dean’s gonna be a mess and he probably won’t want you to see.”

Caitlin looked out the window. Dean was resting his forehead against the steering wheel. “I’ll come with you but I’ll stay in the car while you work.”

Sam nodded as if he’d understood and left. Caitlin scrambled to follow, waving a quick goodbye to the others.

XOXOX

They had built the fire unnecessarily high. It wasn’t a matter of practicality, of course.

As the flask turned liquid, one of the three men watching was consumed by the flames. 

The other two continued to sharpen one end of the bone they had brought, determined and silent. They dipped it in Cas’ blood first and then Megs. Then they pulled the pot with liquid silver out of the fire and took their time, submerging the tip of the weapon into the molten silver and letting it cool until they had to reheat the remaining silver and continue. 

After it was done, they were both sweaty and squinting against the heat and firelight and it was easy to pretend that was the sole reason for their wet faces and red eyes.  
Caitlin, huddled under a blanket in the car against the increasing cold, exchanging regular updates with Charlie, didn’t call them on it when they finally returned to the car.

It was dark when they drove back to the motel and during the entire drive, no one said a single word. Somehow, the car was emptier than it had been when they drove the other way.

XOXOX

“Okay, you’re both grinning like cats eating canaries. Or in this case, canaries eating cats. What did you do?” Dean crossed his arms and pinned Charlie and Garcia with an expectant look.

“Us? Not much.” Charlie kept grinning, though.

“We might have leaked all Frank’s evidence and speculations on mind controlling food additives and pointed out that Roman Enterprise’s recently acquired ownership of SucroCorp.” Garcia snickered. “The vegans and GMO haters are livid, planning to meet up in front of SucroCorp at noon tomorrow for a bigass protest.”

Dean clenched his fists. “We can’t let that happen.” His voice rose. “What the hell were you thinking? It’s too damn dangerous and those people have no idea what they’re risking.”

Instead of looking chastised and contrite, Charlie continued to smirk. “What people?”

Garcia giggled and clapped Charlie’s back. “See, the information is not really out there for everyone to see. But if your IP-address happens to belong to Roman Enterprise, it’s a different story. Then you can access a bogus blog, fake news articles, read posts shared millions of times on facebook, petitions, protest plans, and comments from hundreds of thousands of people ready to fight for their right to undrugged food.”

Charlie nodded. “It’s all an elaborate virtual reality just for Roman’s people. Google ads will help make sure they see it. They’ll be expecting an angry mob, use extra manpower on security, and Dick will want to talk to the press and try to clear things up.”

“Okay.” Dean breathed easier and relaxed his hands. “I still don’t see how that makes him accessible to us. They know what we look like. It’s not like we can ask him for an interview.”

“You’re right,” Charlie said. “The fake protest is a diversion, a way to stretch his resources. On the way to SucroCorp, he will receive a message from a hospital a few hours away, that the Winchesters have been killed in a car crash. We’ll time it so it looks like you were going to the protest, they'll think you leaked the info and planned to do something at the event. He’ll be close by. He’ll think you had the tablet you stole from him with you and he’ll go to the crash site to retrieve it. He’ll have a driver and a couple of bodyguards. You pick the battleground, you set up traps, you take the extras out quickly.”

Dean thought it through. There was a lot of maybes and what ifs. _Well, that’s the Winchester way, right?_ He nodded at the girls. “Okay, ladies. Keep grinning all you want. I’m gonna wait until Dick’s dead.”   
Their smiles fell at that. Dean shuffled his feet a bit before adding: “You did really good. I had no idea it was possible to filter information that way. It’s clever.”

XOXOX

Sam watched Dean talk to the others. His ears were full of strange words of power, softly spoken in a golden timbre, quiet as falling snow and roaring as a hurricane, all at once, drowning out everything else.

There was pressure behind his eyelids, an ache in his skull. 

Sometimes, he would forget when and where he was and drift, his awareness untethered from his body, through countless worlds, time ever changing and always the same, his mind battered by concepts as eternal, infinite, omnipotence. 

_I am Sam Winchester. I need to stop the Leviathan creatures from taking over the earth, 2007 AD. I am Sam Winchester._ He couldn’t even hear his inner voice inside his head, as he tried to anchor himself. _Dean. Dean worries too much._

The room fell away and became a dark night sky, tiny lights far away coming closer at great speed. Burning giants dancing their intricate dance, sometimes exploding, sometimes growing masses igniting from the press and heat of bazillions of tiny particles. Sam gasped and blinked furiously, returning to the room. _Maybe not too much._

“Hey, Sammy. You okay?”

Sam didn’t need to hear to know what Dean was asking him. He nodded as convincingly as he could. _I just have to hold on until tomorrow, at least. When Roman’s gone, maybe, I’ll think about severing the link._

Dean held up the notebook, explaining the plan. 

“We should make some explosives. Preferably something that spreads borax,” Sam suggested.

Dean nodded and wrote something.

MOLOTOVS, CALTROPS, GRENADE LAUNCHER

Sam couldn’t help it, he threw back his head and laughed. How long had Dean wanted a grenade launcher? How many times had he suggested they use one? Well, last year they had gotten their hands on one but they hadn’t had a reason to use it yet.

“Sounds fair,” Sam said, wiping tears from his eyes and shaking his head fondly at Dean’s excited grin.

XOXOX

Sam didn’t have to pray to call Castiel. He could sense him, sense God’s grace, thousands of unique specs of divinity spread across the earth, resting and scheming in Heaven. All he had to do was reach out with his own essence and tap Castiel’s ephemeral shoulder.

Wings rustled, loud enough that Sam could hear. No one else reacted, though.

“Sam?” There was a subservient tint to Cas’ tone and posture.

“Cas, I thought I’d keep you updated on our plans. Maybe you have something to add to them.”

XOXOX

They all ate together at a restaurant downtown. After reluctantly approving their plan of attack for the next day, Cas had put the same illusion on Sam as Dean. The FBI were still in town and once it was time to go after Roman, they couldn’t risk Sam being recognized as a wanted criminal.

Being deaf meant that Sam couldn’t follow the conversation and missed Dean and Morgan's 'make the most horrible pun-war', Cas’ clueless questions, Charlie and Garcia’s geeky arsenal of dry wit and science humor. He could, however, watch their smiles, the way they all shook with laughter. He saw Caitlin, sitting next to Dean, eyes shining with warmth as she watched him eat. _Dean eating._ Sam smirked to himself. _She’s a keeper, brother mine._

Dean stuffed another slice of pie in his face. This place was more expensive than what they normally treated themselves to and for once, the pie was actually worth the extra five dollars. 

Charlie raised her glass and cleared her throat. “On behalf of my peers and just this once, on behalf of everyone else, I propose a toast to Dick. I mean to _slay_ Dick.”

Garcia sputtered and coughed as she started laughing while sipping her frilly drink.

Caitlin smiled. “You’re a savage, Charlie.”

Charlie grinned back at her. “Like you wouldn’t be on my side if Mr. Bad Boy With A Heart Of Gold hadn’t gotten to you first.” She winked at Caitlin and licked her lips, slow and deliberate. 

“Okay, you’ve had enough. Morgan, cut her off the good stuff,” Caitlin said, cheeks heating up. She risked a sideways glance at Dean, surprised to find him looking at her, lips pursed, a worry wrinkle on his forehead.

The general conversation around the table continued but Dean kept his eyes on Caitlin’s.  
“Do you want to come for a ride, later?”

“Where to?” Caitlin bit her lip to keep from saying “On you? Sure.” _That’s it. I’m cutting myself off, right now._

“Tomorrow’s D-day. I don’t wanna go into the final big boss battle without my Baby.”

At Caitlin’s confused expression, Dean sighed. “My car. My actual, real car.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe how long you’ve known us and you haven’t even seen Baby.”

Dean pulled out the notebook and scribbled:

WE’RE DRIVING BABY TOMORROW!

Sam read it and his eyes widened. A slow genuine smile spread across his face. “Yeah. That feels right.”

CAITLIN AND I WILL GET HER LATER. DO YOU WANT TO COME TOO?

Sam arched his eyebrows at Dean. “Christo.”

Dean merely scowled at him.

“Dean, I’m fine. Not dying, not seeing Satan. I’ll stop feeling like I’ve been thrown into a parallel dimension as soon as you stop babying me and act like my pain-in-the-ass big brother. Just go get some quiet time with your girl.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

Sam continued unperturbed: “I know you’re dying to show her off. You’re gonna touch her everywhere, aren’t you? Like the time you got her back from the pound after Bela had her towed.”

“Sam, I swear to God, the next time you go three days straight without bleeding from your ears Imma smack your head so hard you’ll think the visions are back, you hear?”

“Sorry, bro, can’t hear you.” Sam guffawed at Dean’s look of utter outrage and frustration.

Eventually, the tension slipped out of Dean. The corners of his mouth twitched and soon he was laughing along with Sam.


	58. Hot and Cold

The night was clear, the milky way a bright blur above them, as they drove west. Dean hummed to himself, a smirk firmly in place as he sped across the state. 

Caitlin divided her attention between the spark of anticipation in his eyes and the starry sky. She recognized the tune he hummed as Ramble On. “What happens after tomorrow?” 

Dean glanced at her, good mood forgotten. “If we survive, you mean?”

Caitlin had her hands on her thighs and she squeezed them so hard her nails bit into her skin. “Yeah.”

“Whatever happens, you keep talking to Morgan and his team. You help them put those bastards behind bars.”

“But what about…”

“Then you figure out what you want from life and you grab it. Go back to Seattle, become a doctor. Buy a turkey farm. Do what you dream.” Dean kept his eyes on the road as he spoke, his voice gruff.

“What about you?”

“I’m a hunter. I’m gonna hunt.” He threw her a quick smile. “It’s the family business.”

The car was quiet for long minutes. Dean went back to humming, sometimes singing the words. Only as he reached the end of the song did Caitlin realize he was changing the lyrics.

“Gonna ramble on, sing my song, gotta keep slaying evil  
Gonna work my way ‘round the world, until something stops the beating of my heart.  
Taking good care of my baby. I gotta save the world.”  
His eyes were on the road, fingers drumming against the wheel, that expectant smile back in place.

Caitlin swallowed against the lump in her throat and turned to watch the night fly by through the passenger window. _Addition to the old saying about men being either full of shit or taken: Sometimes they’re perfect and single and completely obsessed with being fucking heroes and getting themselves bloody killed_. She wiped her tears away as if simply rubbing her eyes, lacking sleep. _Why do I even care. It’s not like I’ve got anything to offer him. It’s not like I ever wanted someone by my side_. Caitlin closed her eyes but her tears escaped anyway.

XOXOX

Sam had convinced Cas to help him gather supplies and teleport the two of them into a high school lab. They were testing their fourth attempt at a Molotov containing borax.

“Maybe we should use tar instead of oil,” Sam mused. 

“Maybe we could try distilled alcohol instead of gasoline,” Cas suggested.

Sam sighed. “It’s gonna be a long night.”

Cas nodded. “It would have been useful if Father had put more knowledge of battling Leviathans into his work.”

Sam stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide. “Cas.”

“Yes, Sam?”

“Never, ever, ever, tell Dean we wasted over an hour of our time before I did this.”

Cas nodded solemnly as Sam closed his eyes and let his mind surge through the divine words written on his soul. 

Minutes later, Sam gasped and blinked against the harsh lights in the lab. “Salt. Borax is a salt.” He went to the supply cupboards and rummaged through them until he found what he was looking for. He smiled. “We mix borax crystals with rock salt and then we make our usual shotgun shells. I can’t wait to see the surprise on their faces when the pain sets in.”

XOXOX

Dean pulled the tarp from the Impala with a grand gesture, torn between monitoring Caitlin’s reaction and taking in the sleek, black lines of his Baby, finally.

“She’s beautiful.” Caitlin watched Dean run his hands over the smooth surface. Lucky Luke and Jolly Jumper, Han Solo and the Millennium Falcon, Michael Knight and KITT. Dean and Baby. 

“Look,” Dean said, opening the passenger door and pointing. “We carved our initials there when we were like nine and four. Dad was livid.”

The letters D.W. and S.W. were carved in clumsy capital letters. Caitlin looked askance from Dean and opened the door at his nod to run her fingers over the scratches. 

“How old is she?” The pronoun slipped in easily. Baby wasn’t just a well-kept classic. She had something undefinable, qualifying her as more than a mere object - even if she lacked actual sentience.

“She’s a ‘67. Dad bought her in ‘73. She’s been in the family ever since.” Dean smiled fondly as he slid behind the wheel with a deep satisfied sigh. “I missed you so much, Baby.” He stroked the soft, worn leather seat, caressed the wheel reverently. He grinned at Caitlin. “Get in, let’s take her for a spin.”

There was an impression in the seat’s padding on the passenger side. Caitlin ran her hands along its sides as she sat in the center. _Sam-shaped._

Dean turned the key and begged his Baby to be good, even after standing still for so long. She didn’t let him down. The engine roared to life and Dean grinned at Caitlin. 

He had been driving fast on the way there, but now, with the Impala once again an extension of himself, he put the pedal to the metal for real, cutting corners, occasionally drifting through the curves. 

Caitlin gripped the edge of her seat and held on. Her pulse quickened and her breath hitched whenever they entered a curve seemingly too fast to make it. Dean chuckled at her every time, his hands on the wheel steady and sure, shoulders relaxed, mouth wide open in a happy grin. Gradually, Caitlin relaxed her grip and smiled. 

“Is there something wrong with the ventilation? It rattles.”

“Nope, it’s just legos. Dad wasn’t too happy about them either.”

Caitlin frowned. “You and Sam played with legos in the car and got them stuck in the ventilation without your Dad noticing?”

Dean shrugged and slowed down to something resembling the speed limit. “Mom died when I was four. Dad took up hunting. We were all over the states, wherever the hunt took him. We stayed run-down motel rooms and condemned houses when funds ran low. The Impala and Dad were the only constants, you know? She was home. Still is.”

Dean glanced over to find Caitlin running a hand over the dash, lips pursed in thought. When she finally met his eyes, he found no pity in them. “Aren’t you gonna tell me how sorry you are that we grew up like that?” 

“ _You_ don’t sound sorry.” The ghost of a smile settled across her lips. 

“I’m not.” He smiled back at her, swallowing against a sudden tightness in his throat. _She gets it. How can she get it, just like that?_

“Good.” Her smile grew wider. Her hand stretched toward him but stopped short before touching.

Dean caught it in his right hand and tangled their fingers together, resting against his thigh. 

She scooted closer to him, as close as her seatbelt allowed. “Are you scared?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Of what?” He clasped her hand a little tighter. “This?” 

“Tomorrow, doofus.” Caitlin’s eyes were wide as she chuckled, low and bitter. “But I guess I have my answer now, and then some.”

Dean let Baby freewheel and when she had lost enough speed, he pulled her onto the shoulder of the road. He used his left hand to pull the parking brake. He turned to Caitlin, serious.

“I really suck at this stuff, Caitie, but I’m pretty sure you got it wrong.”

He opened his mouth to continue and nothing else came out. She watched him, waited for him to explain, her brown eyes darkened with a mixture of sadness and anger.   
“I’m not good enough for you,” he said. He looked down at their joined hands, biting his tongue. _Not exactly what I meant to say. Is it the whiskey talking? Fuck, I’m not even a little bit drunk._

Her free hand came up to trace his jawline, rest against his cheek. “Shouldn’t _I_ be the judge of that?”

He caught her hand and brought it down between them, the touch too gentle, too intimate. Swallowing, he backtracked to what he had meant to say. “I’ve faced a lot of big, badass monsters. Me and Sam, we’ve fought often enough with the odds against us. We’ve faced death and we’re still here, doing our thing. So while I’m worried about tomorrow, at least I know the drill.”

Dean slowly raised his eyes to Caitlin’s, wide and sincere. “But sitting here, in this car, holding hands with someone, and it’s not about a quick tour to a quiet spot for a good time in the back seat, that’s… I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t be doing this.”

A shiver ran through Caitlin. An itch, the need to run and hide and never look back. Not because he wasn’t good enough, of course he was, he was too good, way too good. Terror crawled up her spine because this was the point of no return. She should run, had to, get away, flee. She couldn’t move, frozen with his hands around hers, his eyes filled with the same terror she felt and… hope. 

Trembling, she leaned forward. Dean met her before she got halfway, his lips soft and warm and hungry.

Dean buried his hands in her hair, sucked her tongue into his mouth to taste more of her. He made happy, hungry noises deep in his throat, pushed against her, pulled at her, until she obligingly undid her seatbelt and straddled his lap. “Mmm,” he groaned, hips thrusting upward, one hand leaving her head to claw under her shirt, slide over smooth skin, grab and knead.

Caitlin took everything he gave her. The shaking had stopped. Dean’s mouth, Dean’s hands, Dean’s dick rubbing against her. Nothing else existed. The fingers behind her head flexing, strong, holding her in place, holding her close. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, no hesitation, licked over her teeth, the roof of her mouth, moaned, caught her lower lip between his teeth and nipped her. Every thrust of his hips ground the seam on her jeans over her clit, painful and addictive.

She had to grab his head with both hands and pull hard to speak. “Wait.”

Dean blinked, expression dazed and almost hurt, mouth open, panting.

“This doesn’t change anything, does it? Tomorrow you and Sam will still ride into the sunset, won’t you?”

“I… guess.” Dean gave her pleading look. “Not gonna stop hunting. ‘s the family business. ‘s all we have left.”

“I’d come with you.”

He stiffened under her, pushed her back, away from his aching cock. “It’s too dangerous.”

“You’ll visit then, when you’re in the neighborhood?”

Dean looked away, throat working hard. _Lisa and Ben were kidnapped because I cared about them. This is so much worse_. “I’m sorry. Caitlin, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything, I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

Caitlin’s eyes narrowed. “You just wanted a nice fuck before heading into battle, then?”

Dean let out a huff of breath, eyes wide and wounded. “I meant every word.” He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. “But I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I can’t care about anyone, I’m poison. Sooner or later you’ll end up dead because of me.”

“Jesus Christ, Dean, how many times to we have to go through this? I know, okay? I know that knowing you paints a target on my back and I’m okay with it. Get it into your stubborn head that you’re worth it. Whatever this is between us, whatever happens, it’s worth it.”

“No!” Dean pushed Caitlin off and got out of the car. 

She followed wordlessly, until he stopped, facing a copse of trees, branches moving gently in the breeze.

“I don’t know what you see in me but you’re fooling yourself. Whatever this is between us is gonna kill you, and I… If you knew the things I’ve done, you’d understand. I’m not worth it, Caitie.” 

“Yeah? Then tell me. Tell me so I can let you go. Stop pushing me away and let me decide what to do.”

Dean scoffed. “What, you want me to just spill the beans, tell you everything about all my biggest fuck-ups?”

“Yes!”

“Can’t you just trust me on this?” 

“If you don’t give me a reason not to stick by you, I’m not gonna stop.”

“Son of a bitch.” He scowled at her. “We don’t actually have all night, you know.”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “Then start with the worst and work your way from there.”

Dean drew in a long shuddering breath. “Fine. Fine. I’ll do just that.” He took a few steps away from her, crossing his arms and watching the trees in the distance.

“My Dad died because of me. He sold his soul and went to hell to save me. I hated him for that, for putting that on me. I should’ve been dead and he should’ve been alive. You’d think I’d learn something from that, right? But when Sammy died... “ Dean turned to look her dead in the eyes. “...I did the exact same thing for him. I sold my soul so he could live and when my year was up, I didn’t even have the good grace to go quietly. I died kicking and screaming right in front of him.”

Caitlin swallowed. Even after everything, comprehending that hell was real and coming back from the dead was possible, wasn’t easy. 

“They torture you in hell,” Dean continued, looking away again. “They cut you into a million pieces over and over and mess with your mind. Time moves differently from here, every month is like a decade.”

“I’m still waiting for the awful stuff that’ll make me hate you.” She put a hand on his shoulder but he shook it off.

“Every day for thirty years, I was given a choice. They’d stop torturing me if I’d do to others what they were doing to me.” Dean ran a hand over his face, moonlight catching wetness before he wiped it away. “I was in hell for _four_ months, Caitie.”


	59. Unbreakable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really nervous about posting this. I hope your sympathy for these characters is as unbreakable as their feelings for each other are.
> 
>  **TRIGGER WARNING!!!**  
>  This chapter contains graphic descriptions of noncon and torture.  
> This chapter contains graphic noncon of a nontraditional variety and does NOT attempt to make light of it!!!  
> I don't care who you are, what gender you are. If someone says no, stop or be a rapist.

Caitlin did the math. “You… did you?”

Dean heaved a sigh. “Remember that time I came in my sleep and woke up all flustered?” He turned, eyes burning into her. “You wanna know what I dreamt?” 

Caitlin took a step back, mouth open but silent.

Dean stalked her, followed her retreat step by step. “Do you?”

 _No. Stop. Don’t tell me._ Caitlin’s back hit the Impala and Dean put his hands on its roof, caging her in. “Tell me,” she whispered.

“I whipped you bloody and fucked your mouth. I came while you fought to breathe and tried to push me away.” His tone was flat and emotionless, his pupils dilating as he spoke. “I held you by the hair and shoved my dick all the way down your throat and I knew you didn’t want it, I could feel you fighting me and it made me feel _good_.” Dean wet his lips with his tongue, breathing heavily.

Caitlin shivered under his hungry look. He was hard. Cold dread cramped up her stomach, her heart racing. His head was close enough that she could slam hers right into his nose. His stance was wide open, he’d be hard pressed to block a knee to the groin. He had caged her in but did nothing to impair her freedom of movement or protect himself. She held still, barely breathing, unblinking.

 _C’mon, Caitie, kick me in the balls and get the fuck away from me. What are you waiting for._ Abruptly, Dean let go of the car’s roof and stepped back. “Fuck! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Caitlin blinked against the sting in her eyes. 

Dean threw out his arms and yelled at her. “I just told you I’m as bad as those brain-dead rat bastards you want to rot up in prison. Stop looking at me like I’m a _person!_ ”

Caitlin snapped. She rounded on Dean in five quick steps, hands on his shoulders, pushing him back until he was the one cornered against the car. She stopped, unsure, searching his face, finding nothing but resignation. She shook her head in disgust and opened the passenger door next to him, her other hand never leaving his shoulder. 

“Get in,” she told him, pushing at him, knocking him on his back across the leather seat when his balance failed.

She attacked his belt buckle and knocked his hands away when he tried to stop her. “Hold still. Gonna show you exactly what I think of you,” she muttered. _Not a person? Stupid idiot_. She blinked back tears of anger.

Dean froze, eyes wide, heart beating through his throat. A nail scratched over the sensitive skin when Caitlin pulled out his now mostly flaccid dick. “No,” he said, voice raw and breaking.

“Shut up.” She put her hands on his hips, holding him down and sucked his soft cock into her mouth. She fit all of it inside, nose flush against his pelvic bone and swallowed to get him deeper, massaging him with her tongue. 

“Please, not like this. Want you, Caitie, but not like this.”

She continued to suck and swallow around him. His cock filled out slowly, hardening and reaching further, nudging the back of her throat. He was thicker than any of the Mitchells and when his cock snaked into her throat proper, she found herself unable to breathe. She held him for as long as she could, drew back enough to breathe deeply, and sucked him in again, gagging once, twice, until his cockhead passed her tonsils. 

Dean grabbed her head and pushed her, but she held fast. Desperate, he yanked at her hair. 

Caitlin’s eyes watered from the painful tug. Dean’s cock slipped back a few inches, and she gagged again. She clamped her teeth down hard enough to scrape him raw if he kept pulling.

Dean let go, his pained gasp turning into a mix of sobs and moans when she took all of him again, throat convulsing and squeezing around his oversensitive cock. 

“I’m sorry.” Dean threw a hand across his eyes. “I’m sorry. Please.” Heat and ice swirled in his gut, bile rose in his throat. Moist warmth clutched his cock, so good, his balls ached with the need for release. “Stop! Don’t make me, not again, please.” He drew a ragged breath. “I’ll do anything. Please, stop.”

Caitlin’s world consisted of breathing and swallowing. Sounds didn’t have any meaning. Not until the meaningless gibberish prodded a memory and she went cold all over. She released Dean’s cock and at the sight of his tear streaked cheeks, she gasped, suddenly dizzy, mouth dry yet sick to her stomach. He continued begging her to _stop, just stop, please, I’ll do anything, stop._

“God, Dean, I’m sorry.” She crawled in next to him, crouching in the footwell, tracing a shaking hand along his jawline. “Shit.” She bowed her head and rested it against his shoulder, expecting him to push her away any second.

Dean’s words trailed off. He didn’t acknowledge Caitlin’s presence or touch, eyes closed, breathing ragged. 

For a long time, neither of them spoke, silence thick and heavy between them. 

Eventually, Dean cleared his throat, his voice coming out deceptively normal. “I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing.”

Caitlin nodded. Dean pulled his legs fully inside and she shut the door. The windows immediately fogged over. 

“Crap.” Dean scooted over to the driver’s side and turned on the engine, boosting the heater to maximum. Throwing Caitlin a shy glance, he tucked his dick back in his pants.

Dean stared at the foggy windshield, his fingers curled around the wheel. His knee bounced up and down in a staccato rhythm. Just a little more visibility and they could take off.

“Dean, I don’t know what to say. I’m so, so fucking sorry.”  
“Hm?” He spared her a glance, his eyes devoid of emotion.

“I didn’t know. I should’ve known. God, you must hate me so much.” Caitlin fought her tears furiously.

Dean looked at her again, frowning. “Why?”

“You told me to stop and I didn’t. I… I thought you were worried about me, I didn’t know you’d… Christ, I rape-”

“-Don’t!” Dean held up a finger between them, eyes fixed on the windshield. “Don’t you fucking say that.”

“But it’s true. Textbook definition true. God, you told me you were as bad as _them_ and I wanted to show you how you’re not. You’re _not_ , Dean. I _am_.” She covered her face with her hands and breathed as evenly as she could, stifling the sobs she had no right to let out.

Dean shook his head slowly. His eyes went soft when he looked at Caitlin’s huddled form next to him. He spoke low and gentle: “The hell were you thinking my dick down your throat was gonna prove anyway?”

“That I’m not afraid of you.” Caitlin breathed in slowly, met his eyes and willed her voice to stay clear. “The things you did in hell, the dreams that haunt you and make you hard… They don’t matter here and now.” 

At his incredulous expression, she continued, gesticulating: “They’re part of your past and they influence the way you feel and experience things now but they don’t define you.” She bit her lip and looked away, breath hitching. “I’ll never be afraid of you.”

“And likewise, okay?” Dean sighed. “C’mere.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him, warmth spreading through him when she melted into his side. 

Half his mind was still trapped in the memories. “I lied to myself at first,” Dean found himself saying. He cut himself off, closing his mouth with a snap. 

Caitlin slowly snaked her arms around his middle, face still hidden against his side.

Dean hugged her tighter and the words poured out of him in a rush, unfiltered. “I convinced myself the souls I hurt deserved it, that I was dealing out justice. Alastair eased me into it, telling me about the horrible things my ‘customers’ had done. Stories about folks like those sick puppies you grew up with. I… Demons lie, but sometimes they tell the truth. But only if the truth messes more with your head than lies. Turns out he was telling the truth about Sam, but… I let him turn me into a monster when part of me knew he was lying.”

“You stopped. You did what you had to in that place and when you came back you stopped.”

Dean barked a short laugh, harsh and bitter. “Is that what you think?” He shook his head. “No, I’m still everyone’s favorite blunt little instrument. First, the angels came.” He made his voice lighter, sounding like a spoiled child. “Someone’s killing angels and this vile demon won’t tell us who, use your special skills to make him talk.” He snorted. “Turns out it was angels killing angels.” 

He rubbed a hand across his forehead. ”Then it was Sam and his obsession with stopping Lilith from breaking the seals and unleashing Lucifer. Whenever we captured a demon we’d torture it for information. Mostly it was okay, the meat suits dead already but sometimes, there was a person in there, suffering along with the demon. And I didn’t care. It was all about saving the world, yadda yadda, greater good and all that crap. But I got a rush out of it every time.”

Caitlin tensed. “Did you ever hurt a human to get that rush?”

“No,” Dean breathed. “No, of course not.”

She looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed from crying. “Then I’m still not afraid of you.”

“But I-”

“Sssh.” Caitlin laid a finger across Dean’s lips. “You gotta forgive yourself. You gotta accept you’re still a good man even if you brought some darkness with you back from hell.”

“No. I let it in. I wasn’t strong enough. I should've never said yes to Alastair.”

“Why did you?”

Dean pinched his lips and looked out the window. “For stupid reasons.” He ran a hand over his face. “Dignity, pride, don’t know what else to call it.”

Caitlin’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“I can’t explain it. Look, this isn’t something I talk about, okay. It’s better left alone.”

“Okay. Then I don’t believe you. You wouldn’t hurt anyone, whatever they deserved, because of pride.” She smiled lopsidedly. “I still say you’re good.”

“You’re gonna stalk me forever, aren’t you?” He pressed his lips to her forehead, sighing and rolling his eyes.

“No, I promise I’ll leave you alone if you ask me nicely.”

Dean chuckled and closed his eyes. He took deep breaths, chest muscles constricting against the knots and butterflies inside of him. “I could deal with the pain. The way it felt when they had ripped me into a million pieces and every one of them was in burning agony. I could deal with the way it felt when they put me back together and made that first new cut. It didn’t hurt at all in comparison but it was so _focused_.”

Dean’s hand rested on her bicep and as he spoke, he gripped around it, tightening his hold with every word. “When ten years had passed and Alastair said we should celebrate, I…I thought I might crack. But I learned to shut out the humiliation and focus on the pain and soon those days were no worse than the rest. I guess it was around twenty years the hellhounds…” He shuddered violently. “But I got through. Just a more creative way of tearing me apart, I guess.”

He paused and released Caitlin’s arm with a bashful look. “The day I failed, no one hurt me. Nothing hurt. Crazy, huh?”

Dean extricated his arm and put some distance between them. “The bastard made it feel good. I knew how to deal with the pain but I’d forgotten what to do with… with everything else. I’ve never hated myself more and then he… he made me watch and he was going to make everyone see… Sam, Bobby… Dad.”

He hit the wheel angrily. “I became a monster because I didn’t want to disappoint my Dad. To protect my dignity.” He snorted. “That’s how pathetic I am.”

“No.” Caitlin closed the distance between them again. “You’re not pathetic, you’re not selfish, and you’re not a monster. Get that into your head, would you?” 

She gently cupped his face and made him look at her. “They played you. That Al _ass_ tair knew exactly what he was doing.” 

She interrupted Dean’s protest before he could speak. “Maybe you didn’t want to disappoint but there were a lot of things going on, can’t you see that? You always think about everyone else first; I bet you didn’t want to cause your Dad grief. I bet you were more afraid of him being sorry for you than disappointed in you.”

Dean swallowed, wide-eyed and tense.

“And don’t get me started on how you were finally not feeling pain because, yeah, maybe you could stand it when it was constant but being free from it and knowing it would come back any second? That’s terrifying. Why do you think I want Saul and the others locked away forever?”

“That’s different.”

“How?” Caitlin pursed her lips in thought. Her eyes widened. “You knew exactly what to say to me about the physical response to unwanted touches because you looked it up, didn’t you? You thought that was what broke your resolve and you looked it up and what you read made you think that _pride_ was your problem?”

“Shut up. Just… shut up.” Dean turned the key in the ignition. “Put your seatbelt on,” he added gruffly.

XOXOX

“Should Dean and Caitlin not have returned by now?” Cas wondered when he and Sam returned to the motel to find only Charlie and Garcia hunched at their laptops, Morgan snoring softly on Sam’s bed.

Sam didn’t answer, of course. Cas padded his pockets for the notebook and sighed. Back to the lab, then. On a whim, he repeated the question in Enochian.

Sam’s eyes took on a light sheen as he stared vacantly into thin air. Moments later, he blinked several times and shook his head. With pinched lips and sagging shoulders, he muttered: “Oh, Dean.” He met Cas’ worried gaze and gave him a quick, small smile. “They’ll get here in an hour or two.”

Sam looked at the girls that had yet to acknowledge his and Cas’ presence. “Shouldn’t you two get some sleep?”

Charlie opened her mouth to answer, then thought better of it. She soon held up a note for Sam to read.

MUST MONITOR THE SITUATION CAREFULLY. CAN’T HAVE ROMAN CATCHING ON. WE’LL SLEEP WHILE YOU SLAY THE MONSTERS TOMORROW.

Charlie looked at her laptop and scratched out the last word. 

LATER TODAY.

“Okay,” Sam said. “Well, let me know if you need any help. I’ll catch some shuteye.” He looked at Morgan with raised eyebrows. “How long has he been like that?”

SINCE YOU LEFT

Sam nodded and smirked. Morgan lay conked out on top of the bedspread so Sam grabbed the top sheet and rolled it over him, continuing to pull until Morgan was inches from rolling off the bed’s edge. Sam burrowed under the blanket, back to Morgan, a good few inches between them, and closed his eyes with a relieved sigh. 

The girls looked at the two men sleeping in the single bed and turned to each other with matching grins. 

Minutes later, Sam grumbled at them: “Are you done taking pictures yet?”

Giggling, they returned to their vigil over the elaborate hoax they were running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not get the idea for this chapter and rubbed my hands together, cackling with evil satisfaction. As it progressed and I watched the action unfold in my mind's eye and on the screen, alternately, my reaction was along the lines of "God fucking dammit, you guys! Seriously??? WTF?"
> 
> All I can say to try to make up for this disaster is that next chapter is coming along nicely and a hell of a lot less angsty.


	60. First and Last

The Impala rolled into the parking lot. Dean left her running to listen to the final notes of Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl.

“That song nearly got you killed.” He turned the engine off and leaned back in his seat.

Caitlin jolted at the sound of his voice. There had been no words between them since Dean had told her to put on her seatbelt. “How?”

“The night we met. After I dropped you off, I wanted to hear it. I couldn’t find the cassette. If I hadn’t spent ages looking for it, you would’ve left the building before the ghost got you.”

Caitlin snorted. “Maybe. Or maybe it saved my life. Maybe the ghost would have gotten me anyway and you would’ve been long gone.”

Dean shook a finger at her. “That’s… argumentative. You gotta stop doing that all the time. If I don’t have enough crap to feel guilty about I’ll just float away.”

“You wouldn’t.” Caitlin smiled and ran a hand across the dash. “You’d never leave your baby.”

Dean’s eyes widened. He looked at her with longing and sighed deeply. “Didn’t you get the memo where I left her in Tennessee for 6 months?”

Caitlin’s smile didn’t waver. “And then you came back for her.”

Dean shrugged and broke the awkward silence by opening the door. “We should get some sleep before the big showdown.”

Caitlin followed suit but stopped dead a few yards from their room’s door. “Should I switch with Sam or Charlie? I mean… are you sure you want to share a bed with me?”

Dean’s eyebrows rose almost all the way to his hairline. Then he scowled at her. “I’m not even gonna answer that. If you’ve had enough of my shit just fucking say so.” He swiped the keycard and went inside, not sparing her another glance.

Caitlin frowned, shook her head and followed him inside. “I thought we had established that I’m too smart to let you chase me off for my own good. That doesn’t mean I won’t respect your wishes if you decide you don’t want my company.” 

“Whatever.” Dean dug into his duffel and pulled out a clean t-shirt. He pointed to the bathroom. “You wanna go first?”

Caitlin rolled her eyes, shrugged and gestured for him to go on.

After her bathroom business, Caitlin came back to Dean lying on his back close to the middle of the bed, one arm stretched out across her side of the bed in an open invitation. His eyes were closed but a tiny quirk of his lips belied his innocent act.

Sighing happily, she crawled under the covers and snuggled in close to him. Dean wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

“Sweet dreams,” Dean said, hugging her even tighter to him.

“You too.” Caitlin smiled against the soft cotton t-shirt Dean wore, stretching her arm across his stomach, fingers stroking his other side, sliding lightly over his ribs.

Dean laughed. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. That tickles,” he gasped.

“Oh.” She hastily removed her hand. “Sorry.”

“‘S okay. I forgot I was ticklish there.” Dean pressed another kiss into her hair.

Caitlin looked up at him. “That’s not where I want kisses.”

“It isn’t?” Dean raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, returning her timid smile. “Where would you like them, then?”

Wordlessly, she pointed to her lips and raised herself up on her elbow. 

“And tomorrow?” The words came out rough and gravelly.

“We fight Roman. Then you tell me goodbye and I tell you to take care and come back if you change your mind.” Caitlin’s voice broke near the end but she held his gaze until he looked away.

“Okay.” Dean framed her head with his hands. “Okay.” He pulled her down for a searing kiss.

She ended up straddling him as he tongue fucked her. Moaning, she rubbed herself against his hardening cock. Heat spread inside her and when the icy ghosts of the past mixed with it, she simply opened her mouth wider and moved her hips faster. _You’re not invited this time._

Dean’s hands roamed her body, his touches gentle and warm. He took hold of her hips and pulled her down, the friction between them growing harder. One hand wandered to her butt, gripping tight and encouraging her to keep up the pace. The other found its way under her pajama shirt, skimmed up her stomach and rounded over her breast.

When he rolled a nipple between his fingers, Caitlin gasped, her eyes opening wide.

Through the layers of clothing, Dean felt the tremors in her pussy reverberating against his dick. 

“Shit,” she said when she found her voice again. “I… that was… wow…” She looked down at their still clothed bodies. “Gosh. I always thought coming early was a guy thing.” 

Dean chuckled. “Don’t worry, it is. When guys do it they’re out for the count. You can go again if you want to.”

A slow smile spread across her face, her eyes lighting up with it. “I want to.”

He pulled her down, licked her lips, nipped at them. Her weight still settled across his hips, her warmth seeping through their clothes and into his dick and he bucked under her. He caught the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and off as she raised her arms compliantly.

Caitlin shivered at the kiss of cool air against her skin. She tugged at Dean’s t-shirt. “You too.” 

Dean sat up halfway and pulled off his shirt. He grinned and grabbed her shoulders, twist and a burst of energy, and he hovered over her, her eyes wide in surprise, her hair spread over the pillow like a halo around her face. “Okay?”

She nodded, breathless after the sudden shift in perspective. No memories rushed her, no ghosts of badtouching trailed her skin. Just Dean, his eyes shiny, corners crinkling, white of teeth showing behind smiling, soft lips, all that coiled strength contained in freckles and scars, flush against every part of her.

Dean kissed his way down her body, the taste of her skin a little salty, overlay of the cheap floral scented soap in the motel bathroom. He went straight between her breasts, dipping his tongue teasingly into her navel, his grin widening when she squirmed and giggled. He tugged at her pants and she raised her hips allowing him to slide them down easily.

He slipped his own boxers off before crawling back over her, mouths meshing, a small gasp from her lips as his cock sandwiched between their stomachs, her fingers tightening behind his head, holding him close.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Please.”

“Okay.”

He reached for the bedside lamp, his pants miles away hanging over a chair, condom in the back pocket.

She caught his wrist in a gentle hold. “You don’t need it.”

“Not risking anything.” 

“You’re clean, aren’t you? I am.”

“That’s not the only thing to worry abou-”

“-It is. Dean, I swear, it is. No surprise babies will come from this.” Her eyes looked even bigger and more round than usual, begging him to trust her. “I just want to feel you. You.”

Slowly, Dean let his hand travel back to caress her cheek. “If you’re sure?” He watched her blink back wetness as she nodded.

Eyes glued to hers, he reached between them and lined up. He didn’t look away, didn’t blink, as he slowly, so slowly, slid inside her.

She returned his gaze, teeth worrying her lower lip, back arching to meet him. No heavenly light lit up the room, no angel choir sang as Dean filled her completely. It shouldn’t be a surprise that sex was just sex, even with someone she had chosen herself. 

Then Dean pressed his lips to hers, so gently, so warm and soft. It didn’t take any outside special effects to announce the feeling of _rightgoodperfect_ lighting her up from the inside.

They moved together in a slow grind, neither willing to draw away from the other, only pushing closer and closer and closer and impossibly closer, breathing in each other’s air.

It _wasn’t_ just sex. It was intimacy, it was closeness. Caitlin closed her eyes and savored the low tingle of arousal, their synchronized movements, skin on skin, feeling of muscles working tandem with hers, hot breath against her mouth, so full inside.

“I’ve got a problem.” Dean rested his weight on one arm so he could smooth her hair back.

She opened her eyes a fraction to see him smile softly, so different from his usual smirk. “Yeah?”

“Mhmh. I kinda wanna do this all night, just this. And I kinda wanna see how many times I can get you off. And I kinda wanna just really go hard, cause I ain’t never done this bare before and fuck, it’s amazing. Or maybe that’s just you, fuck if I know. But then again, I just kinda wanna roll over enough that I don’t crush you and fall asleep like this, inside you.”

Caitlin bit her lip, tiny crease on her forehead. Smiling, she said: “You have no idea how absolutely okay I would be with either one of those things.”

“Shit. I was hoping you could help me choose.” He rested his forehead against hers, their noses rubbing together lightly.”

“What about all of them?” She didn’t smile, couldn’t. After tonight, there were no more chances to any of those things with him.

Dean chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do.” He drew back a few inches only to drive himself back in. “Mmff fuck.” He paused buried balls deep and kissed her, her mouth and tongue all he cared about. 

Talking while being kissed to within an inch of her life wasn’t easy, but Caitlin did it. “Dean, move.”

“Nnh. Can’t. I’ll come in ten seconds. It’ll be embarrassing. Worse than my first time. Don’t make me.”

Caitlin laughed and Dean’s breath hitched at the way it tugged at his dick. She kissed him back.

Dean thrust into her again and stopped with a moan, shaking. “So fucking good.”

After another lengthy kiss, Caitlin pushed at his chest. “Let me drive for a while.”

Dean pouted. “Gonna be a short while.”

“I’m sure you can score two against one if you make an effort.” She pushed harder and he rolled with her until she was astride him once again. Grinning, she raised herself up until only his cockhead was still inside, then sank back down slowly, clenching around him. When she couldn’t get him deeper, she ground her clit against his pelvic bone in tiny figure eights. 

“Caitie, fuck, Caitie.” Dean’s face was scrunched up with the effort of holding back.

She did it all again, even slower. 

Dean busied himself, touching her everywhere. He plucked her nipples, pulled her down to nip and suck each of them in turn. She moaned and gasped and he felt the echo of every one of those touches in her pussy’s grip around his dick. _How the fuck am I supposed to last?_ He put a thumb lightly on her clit, rubbing in time with her movements and felt her tighten and tremble around him.

Dean spluttered and gasped for breath, his cock seizing through his climax. 

Caitlin shook uncontrollably from the dual stimulation of Dean’s cock and finger. He came and she felt him harden even more and jolt erratically deep inside her. She followed him into bliss, muscles spasming, heart rate spiking, nothing but the sounds he made and the feeling of him inside her.

They kissed through the aftershocks. Caitlin pulled the covers over them and rested her head on his shoulder. They turned enough for Dean to breathe freely and both fell asleep before Dean softened too much to stay inside her.

Waking up the next morning, bed empty and sounds of Dean in the shower, Caitlin both appreciated and mourned not having felt the loss when he slipped out.

XOXOX

Charlie stretched and yawned and let her head fall sideways to rest on Garcia’s shoulder. “Don’t Roman and his gang ever sleep?”

Garcia raised an eyebrow at her. “Did your closet monsters sleep very often when you were a kid?”

Charlie stuck her tongue out at her. “Do not present me with idle speculations disguised as logic argumentation at this hour, heathen.”

Garcia giggled and put her hand to her mouth in mock surprise. “My gosh! You sound just like the angel with the dreamy blue eyes.”

From the bed, Morgan grunted in annoyance. “Please, ladies. Some of us still need beauty sleep.”

Garcia winked at him. “Jealous, Sweetheart?” She let her eyes roam up and down the vaguely human shape of him lumped under the covers. “And Morgan? Any more beauty sleep for you and even the sheep will jump you wherever you go.” She made a clawing motion at him. “Rrrrrrrarh”

Morgan pulled the blanket completely over his head. “‘m too tired for that shit.”

Sam blinked his eyes open. It was weird how he could still hear some sounds, sometimes even voices, distantly, but hardly ever any distinguishable words. He checked the clock at the nightstand and reached over to shake Morgan’s shoulder. “Wake up. D-day, G-man.”

Morgan clawed himself up to send Sam a betrayed look. “You disappoint me, Sam. That’s the kind of crap I expect from your brother. I really thought you were better than this.”

Sam smirked and shrugged. “I can’t hear you, agent.”

Grumbling to himself, Morgan got up and went to the bathroom, followed by the girls’ laughter.

Dean threw the door to the tiny room wide open, Caitlin a few steps behind him. He looked around, noticing Cas sitting at the edge of the bed, Sam in the process of smoothing back his hair, the girls still hunched over their laptops and Morgan exiting the bathroom. 

“So this is it, huh? Team Slay Dick. The Geek Squad,” he nodded at Charlie and Garcia who both watched him with narrowed eyes, “looking hella fine, I might add.” He winked at Morgan. “Our very own black man in black.” 

Morgan rubbed a hand across his eyes and looked at Sam. “I forgive you. I forgot how bad Dean’s attempts at humor are.”

Ignoring Morgan, Dean looked at Caitlin. “A real medic.” Finally, he met first Sam’s and then Cas’ eyes. “Seems like the original Team Free Will has grown exponentially in both numbers and talents.”

Dean raised his voice to address them all. “Okay, it’s time to get moving. Does everyone know what to do?”

Charlie and Garcia nodded. Morgan went to stand next to them. “I’ll make sure no one disturbs them.”

“I’ll come with you and Sam,” Cas said. 

Dean nodded, had expected nothing less.

“Me too,” said Caitlin.

“What?” Dean spun to glare at her. “No, no, no, fuck no. And we’re not having this discussion again.”

“You’re right. We’re not. I seem to remember you agreeing to let me make my own choices.” Caitlin crossed her arms in front of her and stared at him with stubborn determination. She added, a bit softer: “You know I can hold my own in a fight.”

“And you know that the Leviathans are masters at psychological freak factor fucking fifteen. They’re just gonna mess with your head.” 

She scoffed. “Because you’re such a healthy individual, no issues for them to use, right?”

Sam cut through their argument, his voice doing the weird echo thing. “We have to go. If she wants to come, let her come.”

Dean clenched his fists and jaws and swallowed against the horde of swear words threatening to escape his mouth.

Cas placed a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder, a silent calming gesture as they filed out to the parking lot. “If Sam says she should come, it will be alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, just a quick PSA in case you're so amazing that you're checking here for the next chapter.  
> I apologize but it's not coming today. I'll post as soon as it's ready (hopefully before next Monday.)
> 
> We're moving in two weeks and we're going through all our stuff and throwing shit out and what not. Also, need to do an awful lot of shopping and stuff (I hate shopping.)
> 
> So sadly, updates might become a bit erratic here at the almost end of this tale. But I promise you will find out how the confrontation with Leviathan Boss Dick pans out and what happens to Caitlin's dysfunctional stepfamily.
> 
> Thank you everyone who's still with me so far <3


	61. End Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for this being so late. We're moving in three days so it'll be another week or two before I put up the next chapter. I'm a little bitter at real life right now, for ruining my perfect streak on this story. I've posted every Monday for over a year and now, three, four chapters tops, from the end, I've failed you.  
> I hope you won't feel the story itself is failing, too.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me for so long.

Dean glanced in the rear view mirror and scowled at Caitlin in the backseat. She stuck her tongue out at him. For the next few miles he kept his eyes on the road. Another glance, another scowl, an arched eyebrow and a lopsided smirk before Caitlin stuck her tongue out again.

Cas watched the interaction with fascination. “Is there something wrong with your tongue? Do you require help?”

Caitlin snorted. “Why don’t you ask Dean if he needs an iron to smooth out his forehead?”

Cas’ reply was cut short by the sound of Caitlin’s phone. 

DICK PICKS FROM SPACE ARRIVED. EN ROUTE TO SUGAR LAND. -C&G.

“Roman took the bait, he’s headed to SucroCorp,” Caitlin told Cas, loud enough for Dean to hear her. Then she showed Sam the screen and he gave her a thumbs up. 

Ten minutes later, the Impala pulled to a stop in the emergency track inside a long, curved tunnel.

Hands shaking, Caitlin texted Charlie back: WE’RE HERE. -C&CO

Less than a minute later another message ticked in. CAM CONTROLLED. CRASH IN 10…

Caitlin closed her eyes and swallowed, Dean’s stricken expression when they had showed him the fake video, fresh in her mind. 

_“Where did you get that?”_

_“Oh my gosh, was this really your car? We found some photos on a website with car wreck pictures and then manip’ed them into this.”_

_“That’s baby, alright.”_

_“Holy shit. How did you survive?”_

_Dean had turned his back and stomped out of the room._

_Sam had come over and sighed at the sight of the wrecked Impala on the screen. “I was driving when the truck hit us out of nowhere. Dad had a bullet in his leg, Dean was barely breathing as it was. They told us, at the hospital, he wouldn’t make it. Dad wouldn’t hear of it. One minute my brother’s dying and I’m screaming at my Dad to fix things, to do better. The next minute, Dean’s okay and Dad’s dead.” Sam had shaken his head. “Did a hell of a number on Dean.”_

Now, the cameras in the tunnel stored Charlie and Garcia’s manufactured footage real-time. Within the next few minutes, a traceable 911 call from the scene would alert authorities and three ambulances and a police car would be dispatched to the scene. They would be redirected elsewhere through scrambled radio communications before arriving.

Dean picked the lock to the dusty storage room for “CREW ONLY” and soon both ends of the tunnel were blocked by yellow and black striped barriers and signs saying “BLOCKED” and “ACCIDENT.”

Sam set up a bunch of flashing blue lights, so the reflections of what would seem like a bunch of emergency vehicles were visible when entering the tunnel.

Caitlin and Cas spread caltrops across a fifty yard section just ahead of the bend.

Sam and Dean set up a row of cardboard boxes containing crystallized borax and C4, working quickly and efficiently.

Caitlin’s phone startled them all. NEAT TRICK. DICK 1 STILL SUGARBOUND, DICK 2 COMING UR WAY, 3 CARS, 7 GOONS.

“Fuck,” Dean spat. “Why didn’t we think of that? How do we know we get the right Dick?”

Sam read the text and Dean’s expression. “Because the real Roman will be the one coming here. Trust me.”

Dean patted Sam’s shoulder and nodded. As he walked away he muttered to himself: “I fucking hope you’re right.”

Caitlin and Cas dragged a four gallon tank of borax over to the storage room and Dean figured out how to connect it to the sprinkler system.

They armed themselves with shotguns, extra shells and a machete each and nodded at each other in silence.

Dean handed Caitlin the detonator for the C4, his hand shaking bad enough that he almost dropped it. She caught it and he grabbed her wrists. “There’s an emergency exit inside the storage room. If things go south, you leave, promise?”

Caitlin frowned, the idea of leaving her friends behind and running from man eating monsters on her own every bit as horrible as staying in the killzone.

“I need you to live, please?” Dean’s grip on her tightened.

“Okay,” she said, shaking her head. As he let go of her, she reached out and stopped him. “But Dean, don’t make me do that. Don’t let things go south, okay?”

Dean leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. “Okay,” he said hoarsely.

They took their positions, Caitlin in the store room, Sam and Dean by the fake emergency lights, Cas invisible somewhere in between. 

They waited.

XOXOX

Charlie and Garcia watched their screens rigidly, whatever cameras they could access along Roman’s route to ensure that nothing unforeseen happened, keeping an eye on the Winchesters standing in the tunnel, faces grim, guns ready.

A knock on the motel door startled them both, Garcia letting out a squeak. 

Morgan pulled his gun and went to stand behind the door. “Who’s there,” he yelled.

“Me. What the hell are you two doing here?” Hotchner’s annoyance went through the door with perfect clarity.

Morgan put his gun away and opened the door. “Sorry, man. We’re working this ca…”

Someone kicked the door hard from the other side and it banged into Morgan’s left cheek bone. His teeth bit down hard on his tongue at the impact, flooding his mouth with the metallic, stale taste of his own blood. He shot out his arm to stop anyone from entering the room. Too warm, too strong fingers wrapped around his wrist and snapped it like a twig. Morgan yelled and pulled against from the iron grip around his wrist. The pressure simply increased. 

Hotchner stepped into the room, keeping Morgan’s wrist in a grid lock, a cruel sneer on his lips. He aimed a gun at Charlie and Garcia. 

Garcia stared at her friend and coworker with wide eyes. “Hotch, what are you doing?”

“That isn’t Hotch,” Morgan gasped, failing to loosen the fingers around his wrist with his other hand.

The Leviathan impersonating Hotchner moved the gun from Garcia to Charlie. “Don’t even think about it.”

Pouting, Charlie drew her hand away from the bottle of soap on the table.

XOXOX

“Shouldn’t they have been here by now?” Dean waved a hand in front of Sam’s face and repeated himself.

Sam shrugged. “Depends. They could have detoured for backup but I guess the girls would have told us.”

Just then, the sound of cars sounded down the other end of the tunnel. 

“Woah, here they come,” Dean warned Sam.

With a nod, Sam turned to face the incoming threat.

The sound of popping tires never came. Instead, the cars slowed before entering the caltrop zone. 

“Something’s gone wrong,” Dean muttered, exchanging a dark glance with Sam.

“Sam and Dean Winchester!”

There was no mistaking Dick Roman’s smooth, arrogant tone.

“I know you’re waiting around the bend, ready to fire everything you’ve got at us. Before you do, you should know that we have your friends at the King’s Rest Motel. They’re alive and relatively unharmed. If you cooperate with us, they might stay that way.”

“You’re bluffing!” Dean’s shoulders slumped in defeat, despite the defiant words. Of course, they weren’t bluffing.

“You’re welcome to come closer and watch the livefeed. So far that just means the real time video recording but if you don’t comply, it might become more literal than that.” The words carried an audible smirk.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered and shrugged at Sam. 

Together they walked forward, feet scraping the asphalt to avoid stepping on their own useless caltrops.

Three black continentals blocked the road, eight men waiting in front of them. Roman stood his ground in the middle, the closest goon to his right holding a laptop turned to face Sam and Dean. It showed the unmistakable images of Morgan, Charlie, and Garcia tied up in Sam’s room.

“What do you want,” said Sam, arms crossed in front of him, back straight enough to make him tower over everyone.

“What you stole, of course. Your guarantee that you’ll stop fighting us. In other words, the tablet and your lives.”

Dean scoffed. “You’ll eat our friends as soon as we’re gone anyway. No reason for us not to fight you right now.”

“With what?” Roman smiled. “You rigged the sprinklers to drench us in borax?” He reached behind him and brought an umbrella up. “You can’t harm us.”

“Yeah?” Dean mimicked Sam’s crossed arms. “What are _you_ gonna do? Shoot us?” He winced at his own words as they left his mouth. 

Roman laughed. “What a novel idea.” Seven guns left their holsters and aimed at the brothers as their wielders clicked the safeties off.

Sam’s eyes widened and he turned to Dean. “Dude! What did you just say?”

Dean threw his arms out: “Duck and cover.” He pushed Sam hard, back toward the line of explosives.

XOXOX

Caitlin listened from her hidden position. Things had gone south. When Dean yelled duck, she hit the switch and turned on the sprinklers, crossing her fingers that it would buy him and Sam a little time.

The Leviathans had the others. Her heart thumped against her chest. They might die.

_Cas. Castiel. You can save them. You’re the only one who can._

XOXOX

Roman cursed as the sprinklers came on, bullets flying everywhere, his sizzling underlings firing blind. He held out the umbrella, allowing at least one of them to aim.

“Cease fire and take cover! No, not you, you idiot,” he hissed at the flustered dimwit at his side. As soon as everyone was protected he pointed ahead where the Winchesters had just disappeared out of sight. “Let’s do it right this time.”

Roman brought out his own gun as they advanced across the treacherous ground. The completely borax-free caltrops were a nuisance, nothing more, and they soon had the Winchesters back in their sight. 

The tallest were limping. leaning on his brother. Roman took aim and fired a two deliberate shots. He watched with satisfaction as the two of them went down in a heap.

XOXOX

“Seriously?” Leviathan Hotch gave Morgan an incredulous stare. “You two do nothing but flirt outrageously day in and day out and you’ve never done the dirty? Not even that weird biting each other’s lips thing you humans find so entertaining?” He looked between Morgan and Garcia, momentarily stunned into silence. “You should’ve gotten it out of your system. Then maybe you’d spend more time working and less time frustrating everyone with your oh-so-clever banter.” A roll of the eyes made it clear how clever the Leviathan thought their banter was.

Morgan met Garcia’s eyes and she gave him a small nod. His lips curled up as he leaned his head back to sneer at their captor. “I thought your kind were an ancient race, akin to a natural disaster on a cosmic scale. And yet, here you are spewing the same ignorant, barely concealed misogyny humans with below average intelligence tends to hide their insecurities behind. What are you afraid of?”

The Leviathan narrowed its eyes _[Hotch’s eyes, dammit]_ at him. With a huff it turned to Charlie.  
“I’m surprised you‘re still here, little turncoat. Don’t you think your new friends here know about all the crimes you’ve committed? Don’t you think they’re just waiting for the right moment to snap a set of handcuffs around your wrists?”

Charlie shifted in her seat. “Plenty of nice jobs for me in the White Collar division. I was never really a black-hat. More of a grey-ish kinda pink hat.”

The Leviathan smiled, teeth showing. “You’ve been planning to get caught, haven’t you? Hoping to get access to their old-fashioned paper archives to find out who fucked up the case against your parents’ killer?” It chuckled. “You’re delusional. Accidents happen. You just don’t want to carry the guilt alone.”

Charlie’s face was white as a sheet except for two red spots high on her cheeks. She kept her lips pressed together, hands clenched in their bonds. 

Garcia nudged Charlie’s leg with her knee, her ankle protesting against the rope. She caught Charlie’s attention and smiled, shifted her eyes to the Leviathan and back before rolling her eyes vigorously.

Charlie’s breath hitched on an aborted giggle. Her head snapped back when the Leviathan backhanded her.

“Do you think this is a joke? Do you find your situation funny?” Another slap hit her other cheek. “What do you think is gonna happen when my boss gets the Word? You’ll get to mosey on out of here, no harm, no foul?”

Charlie spat a mixture of spit and blood on the floor, breathing hard. She swallowed and met the Leviathan’s eyes dead on. “I think we’ll be dead before the sun sets no matter what and I’m not gonna waste my last hours crying about my past to satisfy your sick sense of humor.” Her eyes widened and the corners of her mouth quirked upward. She focused on Garcia. “That sounded totally badass, didn’t it? We’re going to die trying to save the world and I’m mouthing off to the bad guys. Penny, we’re HEROES.”

Garcia scoffed. “Martyrs, more like it. But, your enthusiasm is admirable.”

Charlie’s face fell. 

Castiel materialized behind the Leviathan and swung his machete in a wide arc. The severed head slid off its neck and rolled across the floor. 

Charlie stared at the gorish spectacle, mouth hanging open. “Dude! Telefrag!”

Cas caught the monster’s head by the hair and carried it to the bathtub.

The head opened its mouth. “Think you’re a hero now, Castiel? Do all your friends know what you’ve been up to? We remember. Changing sides now won’t wash you clean, nothing will.”

Cas glared at the thing as he let go and turned the tap, cold water trickling into the tub. “My Father disagrees.” 

The head rolled its eyes. “You’d think I failed psychological warfare 101,” it sighed.

Cas tilted his head, confused. He shrugged and paused. A small smile grazed his lips. “Why don’t you get clean?” Cas threw a bar of soap into the water and left.  
It only took half a minute for the water to rise high enough to drown the agonized screams.

Cas loosened the first knot on the ropes tying Morgan’s hands behind his back. There was a strange pull inside him, growing. The world tilted sideways, his surroundings blurring and fading. The carpet was scratchy against his cheek and smelled like onions. He blinked furiously as another Leviathan stepped through the door.

“Hello old friend. You look unwell. I guess the sigils I just activated are working.” The Leviathan kicked Cas hard in the stomach. “No flying, no powers.” It bent down and easily trapped Cas’ hands behind his back. “The combination of the inverted Solomon’s key keeping you here and the extensive angel warding might turn out to be deadly,” it said, tying a rope around Cas’ wrists.

XOXOX

Pain lashed through Sam’s left side when he hit the ground, twisting to spare Dean’s suddenly limp body as much as possible.

Dean stayed silent, heavy and motionless as he landed halfway on Sam.

“Dean? Dean? Where are you hurt? Dean!”

Sam padded down Dean’s back, feeling the warm, sticky wet blood. He shifted, gently rolling Dean off him.

Dean’s eyes were open, brimming with terror and pain. His mouth worked furiously but Sam couldn’t hear a single sound. Dean’s lips had a bluish tinge that seemed to worsen quickly.

Sam put a shaking hand to Dean’s back, following his spine up, up. There. Slightly to the left but still on point, just below the base of Dean’s skull. The entry wound. Dean was paralyzed from the neck down

Sam slowly maneuvered Dean onto his wounded back side. “Dean, the bullet hit your spine. You’re not breathing right now, so I’m gonna do it for you, okay? Cas will fix you in sec, so hang in there, Dee.”


	62. The Element of Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's so short but hopefully, it takes care of the massive cliff hanger I was evil enough to leave you with.
> 
> I'm still halfway buried in boxes in our new home but I've managed to write a bit ahead of this so I swear that the next chapter will be on schedule, next Monday.

Sam pinched Dean’s nostrils shut and covered his mouth completely with his. Dean’s chest rose slowly as Sam blew air into his mouth. He raised his head, inhaling deeply and passed on another breath, then another, praying to Cas the whole time. 

Sam blew another breath into Dean’s mouth and suddenly found himself hanging midair, his own airflow significantly impeded by the collar of his shirt. He kicked out his legs, hitting air and an unflinching enemy several times before finding purchase on the ground and escaping the vertigo of the sudden suspension.

Roman pushed Sam up against the tunnel wall, lower arm pressed against his windpipe. He looked at Sam, searching, evaluating. Then his eyes widened. “You consumed it?”

Sam looked Roman straight in the eyes and smirked. 

Roman narrowed his eyes. “Fine. That saves me the trouble of finding a prophet. I guess you’re my new pet monkey.” He motioned to two of his goons. “Grab the other one. We’ll put him in stasis, make sure this one cooperates.” 

Roman caught Sam by the shoulder, pulling to turn him around.

Sam twisted in his grip and stepped back, reaching inside his jacket for the silver tipped bone. The second he had enough air, he yelled, words scratching at his sore throat. “Caitlin! Now!” He narrowly avoided getting caught again by throwing himself over Dean instead of running away.

Sam felt the shockwave of the explosion like a hard shove moving through his body instead of around it as if all his organs got sucker punched simultaneously. Still, he forced air back inside his lungs, mouth covered by his shirt to avoid the worst of the borax dust. He passed it on to Dean quickly, managing another two stinging breaths before being hauled away again, coughing. 

Roman’s skin peeled off his face in large oozing flakes, his eyes turned liquid and running down his fleshy cheeks in a Bad Taste parody of tears. “You’ll suffer for this, filthy mongrel.”

Sam figured it wasn’t a great loss that he couldn’t hear the temporarily dissolving monster’s last words. He plunged the bone of Saint Katherine deeply into the side of Roman’s neck, straining his muscles, pushing until the tip of it protruded from the other side.

Sam’s mouth spewed Enochian rebukes and regrets of its own volition as temporarily dissolving turned into permanent erasure so fast the correct word was implosion. Space occupied by Roman nanoseconds earlier turned empty at a rate that pulled at Sam. He reached out for something to hold onto and found nothing.

XOXOX

Charlie strained against her bonds, her breath coming in short, wheezing gasps. The headless body still lay on the floor, yet a carbon copy grinned at her from where it was securing Morgan’s hands once again, jostling his broken wrist far more than necessary.

Whistling, the thing sauntered into the bathroom, it’s laughter echoing back to the main room. “You look like crap, my diversionary friend.” 

They heard a snick and the sound of water draining.

“Charlie,” Garcia whispered. “Can you move your chair? I can move my hands some. If we turn a bit I might be able to loosen your knots.”

Their legs weren’t tied. The chairs scraped against the floor several times making them freeze, listening. Then Garcia got her fingers tangled in the ropes holding Charlie, Morgan telling her which way to pull and twist them.

Loud footsteps from the bathroom, the door swinging open. Charlie’s hands springing free. 

She caught the soap from the desk and turned to face the monster.

It sneered at her, a badly burnt head otherwise similar to its own in its hands. “That stings but it doesn’t hurt me. Not the way _I’ll_ hurt you.”

Something nudged Charlie’s left foot. 

Cas, white as a sheet and his whole body shaking with tremors, pushed the machete at her. 

She discarded the soap, tossing it vaguely in the direction of the Leviathan and picked it up. “I guess I might hurt you yet,” she said to the Leviathan as it brushed away stray soap from its shoulder. Its eyes widened in surprise and she swung the machete casually.

It was messy. The first swing went through no more than a quarter of the thing’s neck and Charlie cursed. It chuckled, mouth widening, teeth everywhere, pointy and shiny with spit. 

Charlie attacked again, putting as much force as she could muster into the blow. The head wobbled, still attached to the shoulders by a wide string of flesh, quickly growing. Black goo sprayed everywhere, the machete now slippery in Charlie’s hands. 

The Leviathan stuck its tongue out at her. Shrieking, she hacked again, her voice cutting off when black slime entered her mouth. It tasted like tar, sulphurous and thick. Finally, the head came off completely. Charlie retched over and over, even as she crawled back to free the others.

XOXOX

Sam slipped, slid toward the emptiness, portal, whatever it was, sucking him in. He bent his knees and leaned back, fingers scratched raw against the blacktop.

_If I don’t get back to Dean soon, he’ll suffocate. Alone._

Fingertips bleeding, Sam fought harder. It wasn’t enough. He gulped and gasped for more air, more strength. His throat hurt, his lungs didn’t cooperate. His eyes watered and he could hardly see. 

_I know this smell._

Cheap whiskey, engine grease, musty smell of old books, Old Spice aftershave, hint of ages old tobacco dried out in a drawer. _Bobby._

The pull stopped, leaving Sam panting, coughing and heaving on the ground. He rolled onto his back, eyes wide and blinking rapidly, nostrils flaring, as the hole disappeared with a final flash of light. 

The remaining Leviathans stood gaping at the place their vanquished leader had vanished. Their skin flaked, their bodies crumpled, their usual reaction to borax somehow worsened and their will to fight gone out of them. 

Sam got to his feet shakily, heart thudding in his chest. Was he too late?

Caitlin was kneeling at Dean’s side, her lips against his, breathing into him. The whites in her eyes were bloodshot, her skin reddening. Sam’s own hands itched and had blisters rapidly forming. 

All around them, Roman’s goons were dissolving into black puddles. Sam had a brief moment to wonder if it was the same everywhere or if it was the borax crystals in the air. Then Caitlin gestured at him to take over, mimicking a phone call. 

Sam nodded and took a few deep breaths, sinking to his knees next to her. Dean’s eyes were still open, still aware, his skin visibly irritated and glistening with sweat. Sam read the questions in them as easy as any book. _Cas never showed. If he tried to help the others… did we get them all killed? And Cas?_

Sam shared a breath with Dean and reached for the Word inside him. There was nothing. Frantic, he reached for the stone, tucked in the waistline of his jeans where he usually kept his gun. It was broken, a jagged line straight through from top to bottom. Sam lined up the pieces and pressed them together uselessly. With a frustrated growl, he threw them as far away as he could and turned his focus to Dean.

Dean had blood around his mouth and Sam nearly panicked. Realizing it wasn’t there before, he ran a hand across his nose and felt the sticky wetness there. His clothes were a rusty mess down the front. Sam wiped his sleeve across Dean’s mouth then across his own his face. He breathed for them both again, pausing between every breath to hack and cough.

Sam jolted when Caitlin touched his shoulder. Despite her mouth moving, he couldn’t hear anything. A rush of cold dread surged through him. The tablet was broken, the power gone. He should be able to hear her. Hand shaking, he pointed to his ear and shook his head.

Caitlin pointed to the fake blue lights and held up five fingers, closing her hand and opening it again twice. Fifteen minutes for an ambulance to arrive. Sam nodded, his nails digging into his palms. It would be okay. Dean would be okay. 

Minutes later, Caitlin grabbed Sam’s shoulder again, squeezing hard. His heart skipped a beat, fearing the worst. She had her phone against her ear, listening intently, smiling. She caught his eyes and held the phone out for him to read “Charlie” on the display. 

“Are they okay?”

Caitlin nodded, coughing into her sleeve, forehead wrinkling at something. She spoke a little while longer and started typing on her phone the second the call disconnected.

ALL ALIVE, CAS HURT BUT GETTING BETTER. CAN’T FLY :/

Sam nodded, smiling. “Hear that, Dean? The others are okay. Cas got hurt and can’t help us right now but he’ll be okay. So you just hang in there, brother.” Sam gave Dean’s arm a squeeze, thought better of it and patted his cheek softly, chuckling at the combination of relief and big brotherly promises of revenge humiliation in Dean’s eyes. Sam’s chuckles soon turned to violent coughs, taste of copper growing in his mouth.

Caitlin looked away from them, intent on something. 

Dean’s eyes followed.

Sirens. They could hear sirens. Sam breathed deeply, instantly regretting it, coughing and spitting blood. 

Caitlin gently pushed him away and gave Dean her next breath.

Sam watched the tunnel opening and when he saw the first flickering blue lights there, he closed his eyes in a silent prayer of thanks.


	63. Days

**Day 0:**

It was a long time yet, before the rescue team had geared up properly. They wore hazmat suits, looking like something out of a sci-fi movie, oxygen tanks weighing them down, the gurneys they brought skidding across the rough blacktop.

A rescue worker handed Sam an oxygen mask and put another on Dean, immediately starting up a regular, professional rhythm of ventilating. They got a stiff board under Dean and strapped him to it, put him on a gurney and carried rather than pushed it out of the tunnel.

While several EMTs cut off Dean’s clothes and cleaned him with washcloths, Sam and Caitlin had to endure a hosing down before getting inside the emergency helicopter. Caitlin shook beyond the cold, silent tears continuing to run down her cheeks after the water stopped.

Swaddled in heat blankets, Sam and Caitlin were ushered to sit behind the pilot and co-pilot, oxygen masks still in place, Dean behind them and hidden behind several rescuers bustling over him.

At some point, after landing but before their chest X-rays, Caitlin showed Sam her phone, a text from Garcia telling them to 

GO AHEAD AND USE YOUR REAL NAMES, IT’LL WORK.

The message continued to list social security numbers for Sam and Dean, as well as insurance information for all of them. 

After being cleared and given temporary hospital clothes, Sam and Caitlin waited. And waited. And waited. Shook up, exhausted, their skin still a bit itchy, folded up in uncomfortable waiting chairs. 

Caitlin’s entire body still trembled, hadn’t stopped since the hose-down outside the tunnel.  
Sam cursed himself for not noticing sooner. “Caitlin? You okay?”

She started to nod, bit her lip and shook her head frantically. 

Sam held out his arms and she almost knocked him over, throwing herself against him, shaking and sobbing. He held her close and stroked her back, slow, calming motions.

She fell asleep and was out cold when a doctor finally came by and spoke to Sam with a serious expression.

“Hold on, Doc, just a second. I’m deaf. I’ll just wake her up and you can tell her.”

Caitlin already stirred at the sound of voices and Sam shook her harder than necessary, barely holding himself together. _Is Dean dead? Again? And how much world will I have to break to get him back this time?_

Caitlin listened intently to the doctor, nodding and… a smile. That was definitely a hint of a smile. Sam exhaled shakily, shoulders sagging slightly, waiting for a full report.

Caitlin listened to the explanation carefully, asking questions as if doing rounds with the attending doctor at the hospital. 

The borax had affected Dean most of the three of them, had him running a high fever, the skin on his hands and face blistering as if burned, his heart working overtime. They had done what they could to relieve the pressure on his spine, but it was too risky to keep operating on him in his unstable condition. 

There was a high risk that he would be completely paralyzed from the neck down, forever relying on a ventilator to even stay alive, if he lived long enough for the borax poisoning to pass. 

Caitlin nodded her understanding, accepting the odds given. This doctor didn’t know about Cas. All Dean had to do was stay alive long enough for Cas to fix him. She thanked him and started writing everything down for Sam. 

**Day 3:**

Cas arrived by bus. He stood at the hospital entrance for long minutes before proceeding, head bowed, steps heavy. 

It broke him, the way Sam and Caitlin lit up when he entered the room, the way they read his expression and the way their hopes crumbled before his eyes. They couldn’t have known and he hadn’t found the courage to call ahead and tell them. 

Unsure steps took him to Dean’s side. He reached out with an unsteady hand, putting two fingers to Dean’s forehead, a gesture so familiar, so full of power, so … useless. That sigil, the Leviathans used on him… It worked just fine. The only reason he was still breathing was his willingness to accept the death of his grace, to keep going without it. 

He stood, frozen, fingers still touching Dean, praying, willing, demanding something to happen. Minutes later, he drew back, clenching his hand, nails digging into his palm. _Useless. Human._

Cas turned to leave, would have gone without another word, if Sam hadn’t stopped him.

“Hey, Cas! Where are you going?”

Cas turned slowly. “I don’t know.”

Sam frowned. “You… don’t know?” _I can’t have read his lips right, that doesn’t make sense._

Cas nodded. 

Sam took a step toward him, arms out in confusion. “Why?”

Cas shrugged and smiled sadly. “I don’t belong anywhere, anymore.”

Sam frowned again, smiled sheepishly and pulled out a notebook from his pocket. “Could you, um, write that down?”

Sam read the note and threw it aside. “Cas, you’ll always belong with us. You should know that.”

Cas sighed and wrote a few more words.

“That’s okay,” Sam told him when he’d read them. “Powers or not, you’re our friend. If you have nowhere else to be, we want you to be here.”

Cas felt wetness at his cheek, nodding, accepting the hug Sam offered, Caitlin taking her turn next. He looked around the white room with all its strange machinery. He had a home. Sort of.

**Day 4:**

The ceiling was white. Not a spider’s web, no cracks, just blinding whiteness. He felt no pain, didn’t feel anything, except some itching along his scalp and cheeks. When he opened his mouth to ask what the fuck was going on, something got in the way of his tongue. 

Dean squinted and caught the outline of a tube. His lips vaguely shaped the word “motherfucker” but no sound escaped. He drew in a breath to holler for someone and nothing happened. He couldn’t even feel himself breathing, let alone control it.

Sharp taste of panic overflowed his taste buds. Did panic really have a taste or was that just in his mind? Could he taste things, still? He bit at his tongue but couldn’t close his teeth tight enough around the tube to draw blood.

Hospital. He was in a hospital, so the others must be okay, right? Right? He replayed the events of their confrontation with Dick, remembered falling and feeling no pain, the weirdest sense of no air getting into his lungs no matter how deeply he inhaled, getting lightheaded and then… Then Sam, panicked, fucking kissing everything better, until he had enough air to realize…

Fuck. Motherfucking, goddamn, sonofabitch, stupid, asshole, dickhead Dick, fucking shooting him in the back, bloody paralyzing him, the bloody bastard.

And where the fuck was Sam? Where was everybody? Leaving him in this bed to rot, what the hell? 

It wasn’t like Sam, not waiting by his bedside. Caitlin had seemed the type, too. Wasn’t she a doctor? Shouldn’t she be double checking his chart or something?

Maybe they just realized, finally, that he wasn’t worth it. And it shouldn’t hurt, damn it, he always knew he didn’t deserve their attention. Yeah, good for them, moving on to bigger, better things. Dean was happy for them. They deserved the best.

Fucking hell, flooding your ear canals with tears when you can’t move your arms is a moron thing to do.

It didn’t help that those damn tears weren’t all gone yet, when Sam burst through the door, eyes widening with shock when meeting Dean’s.

“Fuck, Dean. Shit, I… I meant to be here when you woke up. They said you wouldn’t wake up until some time tomorrow.”

Dean blinked, felt the crusty salt trail on his face protest the movement. _Just don’t see. Don’t say anything._

Sam never took orders, silent or otherwise. “Dean, I’m so sorry. We just wanted to bring Baby back here, once they’d said you’d pull through. We’re fine, both of us.”

And if Dean could turn his head, if he could hide behind an empty gaze through a window, he would have. All he could do was close his eyes.

**Day 5:**

Sam, Caitlin, and Cas hovered at his side. They’d sit there, Sam and Cas to the right and Caitlin to the left, talking to him, to each other across his useless, limp body. The tube down his throat stayed firmly in place, keeping him breathing and mute. Or maybe his vocal chords would be just as useless without it. It’s not like he could ask anyone about it.

"Blink once for yes and twice for no." But, goddamn, how many yes and no questions could they think of? And when they ran out and the conversation moved on, all he could do was scream on the inside and wish for Sam's powers so he could throw stuff around with his mind in the face of his physical immobility.

When the day’s most important question came, asked by a doctor, Dean blinked once and kept his eyes open until they watered. Did he want them to operate again, attempt to relieve some of the pressure on his spine? Hell yes! 

And if they couldn’t, if it didn’t work, he’d like a nice clean overdose of the good stuff. But he had no way to tell them that.

**Day 7:**

Caitlin entered the room with barely a greeting. Her shoulders sagged and her feet dragged across the floor, until she stopped dead in her tracks.

“You’re off the ventilator,” she squealed and Dean smiled, honest to God smiled at her.

“Yeah,” he said, voice so hoarse it came out a whisper. “How did it go today?”

Caitlin sighed. “Okay, I guess. I just… I miss Derek and Penny. I understand why they can’t work this case anymore, but I, I trusted them. These new guys seem decent enough, but they’re expecting me to tell them…” She trailed off, head shaking. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to more days like this.”

Dean looked at her, eyes soft and serious. His gaze shifted to his hand, resting at his side. Caitlin’s eyes followed and they both saw the hand twitch. Their eyes met and Dean grinned at her.

“Wanna hold your hand,” he whispered.

She smiled, blinking back tears, and squeezed his hand.

Dean’s breath hitched and his eyes widened. “I felt that.”

Caitlin leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “See? The surgery helped.” She looked around. “Where’s Sam, by the way?”

Dean gave her a sly smile. “Gettin’ burgers. First real meal in almost a week and they want me to gobble down some smoothie shit.”

Caitlin narrowed her eyes at him. She let go of his hand and moved to the end of the bed, snatching the chart from its place. She flipped through quickly. Scowling at Dean, she pulled out her cell phone and called Sam.

It went to voicemail, as expected, but he wrote her back a few moments later.

?

DON’T FEED YOUR BROTHER BURGERS UNTIL AFTER FOUR PM WHEN THEY’VE FINISHED TESTING THAT HE CAN ACTUALLY EAT SOLID FOOD!

Dean watched her type with apprehension. “Caitlin, what are you doing? Who are you writing? It’s not Sam, is it? Caitlin, what’s he saying? What’s going on?” His voice gained more and more power as he spoke, ending in a frantic rough rumble.

-

Eventually, that night, Dean did get his burger. Sam held it out for him, and Dean ate three huge bites with gusto, stopped and went green.

Caitlin smirked at him and held out an emesis basin just in time. “Now, follow the hospital guidelines to get your stomach back to normal, before trying again.”

Dean scowled. 

Sam held out the burger again, question in his eyes.

Dean eyed it warily, considering. Finally, he shook his head no. He kept looking like a human thundercloud the rest of the evening and nothing they said could cheer him up.

**Day 8:**

“Hello.”

Dean, Sam, and Caitlin all dropped their jaws simultaneously.

Dean recovered first. “Cas, what… what is that?”

Cas looked around him, squinting. “What is what?”

“That, that blue thing, you’re wearing?”

Cas looked down and his eyes widened. Then his brows knit. “It’s my work uniform. You don’t like it?”

Dean opened his mouth to speak but Caitlin beat him to it. 

“I love it. It really brings out the color of your eyes, Cas. Where did you get a job?” She frowned in concentration and move her hands as she spoke the final question.

Sam watched and his eyes widened in surprise before he smiled at Cas.

Cas smiled even wider. “At the Gas ‘n Sip over on Central Avenue.” He meticulously spelled G-A-S _ N _ S-I-P with his hands.

Sam gave him a double thumbs up. 

Caitlin nodded. “That was a really good idea, getting a job. Now that we’re all legitimate citizens, we should be worrying about legitimate money. I think I’ll look for something to do as well.”

Dean gave her a mournful look and she smacked his shoulder playfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll find something outside visiting hours. We’re not gonna let you rot in here alone.” Dean’s frown deepened, his hands clenching and unclenching.

Sam stared into space, his expression sad and lost. Caitlin reached across Dean to nudge his shoulder. “You could take sign language classes at the community college, Sam.”

He nodded, sighing deeply. 

Dean pursed his lips, his hands relaxing. “Or you could volunteer to give dancing lessons at the retirement home, Samantha.”

Sam glared at him. Dean grinned insolently. 

“I don’t know how he does it. He can’t hear a word I’m saying, but he just knows.”

Caitlin fought not to smile. “You get this look, right before you tease him. Like you’re about to take a dump. Your face scrunches up and wrinkles.”

Dean looked crestfallen. “Do not!”

Caitlin nodded, expression somber. “It makes you look at least fifty years old, every time.”

“Fifty-year-old men can still walk,” came the bitter reply. Dean meticulously turned as much of his body as he could control away from them and squeezed his eyes shut.

Caitlin reached out a hand but stopped short of Dean’s stiff shoulder. “You’ll walk again soon,” she whispered.

Dean didn’t move.

**Day 9:**

Caitlin entered the bar, her blouse tied in the front to reveal a few inches of bare skin above the waistline of her jeans. It was early, only a few patrons sitting around. 

The bartender, a man in his forties, raised his eyebrows at her.

“There was a sign at the door,” Caitlin answered the unspoken question. “I’m stranded here in town while a friend recovers from an accident. I could use something to do outside hospital visiting hours.”

The man’s eyebrows rose even higher. “You ever bartend before?”

Caitlin pasted on a flirty grin. “Since I got my first fake ID. I know my way around.”

The man nodded, offering her his hand. “I’m Hank.”

“Caitlin.” She shook hands with him and soon enough, she stood behind the bar, pulling a draft for her new boss.

**Day 16:**

“Saul Mitchell, you are charged with sexually abusing your stepdaughter over a period of six years, starting when she was ten years old. You are furthermore charged with assaulting, kidnapping, and torturing your stepdaughter, holding her captive against her will from March 6th to March 12th earlier this year, and several accounts of attempted rape during that time. How do you plea?”

“Not guilty, your honor.”

“Your trial will begin December 3rd, 10 am.”

Saul was led from the courtroom. The bailiff returned with Cody and the spectacle repeated itself. The list of charges was a lot longer, including human trafficking of sex workers, additional accounts of kidnapping and rapes, creating and distributing child pornography and pornography with non-consenting participants, as well as six accounts of murder. 

Cody spotted Caitlin sitting in the back row and stared daggers at her until the bailiff deliberately positioned himself between them.

After his not guilty plea, he fell on his way out. The bailiff’s expression stayed stony and detached but Sam swore up and down to Caitlin that the bailiff tripped Cody himself. 

Brad’s list of charges concerned only what he had done to Caitlin. He surprised them all, pleading guilty.

“You understand that this means you will not be tried by a jury?” 

Brad nodded. No lawyer at his side prodded him to speak. The bailiff stepped up to him, whispering instructions. 

Brad looked the judge in the eyes and spoke clearly. “Yes, I understand, your honor.”

Leaving the courtroom, his eyes met Caitlin’s for the briefest of moments and he stumbled, the bailiff catching him so he didn’t fall face first to the floor as his brother had done earlier. After that, he kept his eyes on his feet until he was out of sight.

In the brief recess before the next case, Caitlin carefully made her way to the bailiff. “Excuse me, sir, I… can I ask you a question?”

The man’s eyes widened in recognition. “Of course, Miss Smith.”

“Brad won’t be put in a cell with the others, will he? When they find out he pleaded guilty…”

“He won’t be. Don’t worry about it, Miss Smith. We know what we’re doing.”

“Thank you.”

XOXOX

“Seriously, Caitie, how are you?” Dean watched her intently, his forehead glistening with sweat and his arms still shaky after half an hour of physical therapy.

When she’d asked him the same question, he’d smiled, too big not to be fake, and told her “Peachy.” That didn’t explain why the PT had left in a hurry with barely a goodbye, shoulders tensed halfway around his ears. She’d refrained from asking Dean about it.

Dean sat propped up against a small mountain of pillows, wearing one of his own plaid shirts unbuttoned over a white hospital undershirt. He had dark smudges under his eyes, skin pale against what could no longer be referred to as stubble but had turned into a full-fledged beard.

Caitlin pursed her lips in thought. “Better than I expected to be. But shaky. Like, it wouldn’t take anything to start a flashback.”

Dean nodded. “Of course. You’re off work tonight, right?”

Caitlin looked sideways, out the window. “I might’ve promised Hank I’d cover for Beth tonight. She’s down with the flu.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at her. “And you just felt like helping him out, from the goodness of your heart and fuck your own sanity?”

Caitlin bit her lip. “The money’s good.”

“You asked for tonight off when you took the job. It’s one night.” Dean threw his arms out and nearly knocked over the water next to his bed.

“I’m okay, Dean. It’s no big deal.” She watched his nostrils flare and his jaw clench. 

_If I told you Hank threatened to fire me if I didn’t show, what would you do?_

She reached out and took Dean’s hand, fingers smoothing over his scarred knuckles. “I thought we’d agreed that I make my own decisions?”

“You agreed,” Dean grumbled, slowly relaxing back into the mountain of pillows. He scratched his beard with his other hand.

She smiled cheekily at him. “The way I remember it, your brother, an angel, and a small part of God himself, vouched for me. Sorry, you didn’t get a say.”

Dean grunted and scratched his beard again.

“Why don’t you shave that off?” Caitlin reached out to tug the hairs under his chin.

Dean tensed and scowled. “Hey, it’s cool. It hides the weight I’ve lost. Can’t get a decent meal here for shit. Prison food is better.” He squeezed his hand around hers. 

Caitlin pushed her front teeth together, hiding her wince of pain when he squeezed her too hard. 

**Day 22:**

Sam had walked the distance between their motel and the hospital so often it had become routine. 

_The Doctors are impressed with Dean’s progress but they don’t expect him to get back to 100 %. But he keeps acting like it’s nothing, like it’s just another hospital stay and everything will get back to normal soon. Haven’t they told him? Is he in denial himself or is he being an idiot, thinking he has to spare me, somehow? Would he be acting that way if I wasn’t deaf?_

Sam glanced up to see the “Sunny Days’ Nursing Home” sign above the gate next to him. 

Cas and Caitlin are working their asses off, and I’m good for nothing. I have no idea what to do when…

Darkness.

Sam blinked his eyes open, tensed up and ready to fight against whoever had knocked him out and… kept patting his cheek. He gaped at the older woman bent over him, her mouth moving, brows knit in worry. His fingers scratched across the pavement, the sky was still blue above him. His head thumped with a hangover bordering on a post-vision migraine, which didn’t make sense because he hadn’t been drinking. Had he?

The woman turned her head, mouth open wide, neck muscles strained. She returned to patting Sam, his cheeks, his shoulders, his chest. 

Sam swallowed and forced his lips to form words. “I think I’m okay.”

The woman broke into a relieved smile and began talking, arms and hands gesticulating wildly.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.”

At the woman’s chagrined, near-panicked expression, Sam felt it necessary to add. “I lost my hearing last month.”

Her mouth rounded in a sad, sympathetic “O.” Then she held up her index finger as if to indicate that he should wait. Instead, she held out her hands to help him up. Sam got to his feet with difficulty, fighting dizziness and trying not to knock over the lithe, elderly woman attempting to support him.

She didn’t let go of his hand, dragged him through the gate to the nursing home, up a long white-graveled driveway to the main entrance’ double doors. 

The room beyond the doors was light and large, comfortable looking lounge furniture scattered among various potted plants, indoor palm trees, and vines growing up the walls and across the ceiling. 

Soon Sam found himself sat on a soft couch, a bottle of water in his hand. A middle-aged man in an ill-fitting suit, walked up to him and moved his hands. Sam had spent most of his free time since they came here studying ASL, and the man signed slowly in almost exaggerated movements.

“I’m Alfred. I work here.” Alfred pointed to the woman that brought Sam inside. “Rebecca.”

Sam nodded politely at her. “I’m Sam.” Belatedly, he remembered to sign his name as well.

Alfred smiled. “Becca says you lost your hearing recently?”

“Last month.” This time, Sam said the words and signed them simultaneously. 

“Have the Doctors figured out a cause?”

Sam shook his head no. 

“They never found one for me either.” Alfred chuckled at Sam’s obvious surprise. “Happened almost ten years ago. For a time, I thought I would have to give this up.” Alfred gestured, indicating the building surrounding them. “But my wife, she didn’t want me to quit. Said I’d be an insufferable stay-at-home husband. She made me look for solutions instead of problems.”

“How do you do it?”

“I’ve become pretty good at reading lips. I don’t have as much contact with our residents as I used to and as I would like. I only hire staff that know ASL or are willing to learn.”

“That’s… amazing.”

Alfred chuckled again. “I do feel lucky. But, Becca says you’re a lawsuit waiting to happen. I’m supposed to apologize a million bazillion times because, apparently, she threw a football that went off course and knocked you out.”

“That’s what happened? I got hit by a football?”

Rebecca nodded, eyes downcast.

Sam laughed, hands bracing his head against the pain as it wracked through him, bordering on hysteria. When at last he got it under control, all he could say was: “You should be playing in the NBA, Rebecca.”

She met his eyes, suddenly grinning. “Thank you, Sam.” 

Smiling back, Sam waved her off. “It’s true.” He caught Alfred looking intently at him.

“It looks like you’re already getting the hang of reading lips,” he signed.

Sam blinked and realized that he had understood Rebecca without being able to hear her. He shrugged. “Maybe.” He stood, sure the conversation was just about over, apology and forgiveness given.

“Wait a second,” Alfred said. “Sam, are you any good with your hands?”

Sam frowned, confused. “Maybe. Why?”

“We’ve got some leaking faucets, a few walls that could use a new coat of paint, our gardener complains that the lawn mower keeps drowning. You speak ASL, you’ll be reading lips in no time, and you were incredibly nice to Becca, so I’d like to offer you a job. Are you up for it?”

**Day 47:**

“I think there’s a hunt at the retirement home.”

Dean turned in the wheelchair to look up at Sam. “Seriously, Sammy? We’re not even out the front doors yet.”

Sam smiled ruefully. “I know, that wasn’t… Just thinking out loud, I guess. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

They did pass the front doors then, the Impala gleaming in the sunlight some fifty yards down the street.

The second the doors closed behind them, Dean pulled the brake on the wheelchair and got out of it. The hateful kick he aimed at one of the wheels would have held more spite if he hadn’t needed to hold onto the handles to keep his balance.

He did his best to loom over Sam, the way he always did before, even after Sam outgrew him. Unsteady on his feet and feeling every pound of muscle he’d lost, the best he could do was glare. Upwards. “You’re not hunting alone. It’s too dangerous. Call someone else, got it?”

Sam grinned and slapped Dean’s shoulder. “Was planning to.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and put a hand to his chest in mock pain. “So that’s how it is, huh? Trying to give your poor, crippled big brother a freakin’ heart attack on top of everything else?”

Sam scrunched up his face, processing. “I didn’t catch that,” he finally lamented. “Unless you said something about a boar, nippled pig mother. And was there something about an art attic?” 

Dean flipped him off, not quite managing to bend his index finger. 

Sam grinned. “How very British.” He put an arm around Dean’s shoulders and steered him away from the wheelchair. “Come on, let’s get you home and put some real food in you. You can get back at me when you’ve had some of that pie Caitlin made for you before going to work.”


	64. Moving On

**18 months later:**

“Dean!” Caitlin squeezed between two stacks of boxes, higher than herself. 

She found him in the kitchen, staring at a metal circle between two handles.

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s a corn cob scraper.” She sighed.

“Why do we have a corn cob scraper?”

“To scrape kernels off the cobs. Can’t you just put it in the box?”

“But I’m gonna hafta carry the box to the truck and from the truck to the house. I’m not gonna pack stuff we don’t need.”

Caitlin crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows. “I used it three days ago for that cream corn you gushed over so hard, I thought you’d sleep with it and banish me to the couch.”

Dean’s eyes widened. He pursed his lips and scrutinized the scraper for all of two seconds before tossing it into the open box next to him. With a shrug, he picked another item from the drawer. He stared at it. “What the fuck is-”

“Just throw it out. I only ever use it when I make pies and I don’t think I’m gonna do that anymore.”

Faster than lightning, Dean put the thing in the box.

Caitlin smiled, shaking her head. “Dean, I just wanted to know if you and Sam agreed on when to pick up the appliances this weekend?”

Dean buried his hands, elbows deep, in the kitchen drawer, feeling for more stuff. “Yeah, um, sure.”

“So when are you picking them up?”

He glanced up, eyes wide. “Saturday, I guess. Or Sunday, maybe.”

Caitlin glared at him until she burst out laughing. “Jeez, you’re tired. Why don’t you take a break. I’ll text Eileen and figure it out.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean sighed and threw himself on the couch. He ran a shaking hand across his face and let his eyes drift shut. 

He woke up to Caitlin gently massaging his neck and shoulders. “Mwhah?”

She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I talked to the company and the houses are so close and the total order for all of us is big enough to warrant free delivery, so that’s taken care of.”

“Mmh.” Dean pulled her closer, overbalancing her. He made an ‘oof’ sound when her weight hit him. Then he wrapped his arms and legs around her and kept her there.

“Are you secretly an octopus?” Caitlin relaxed against him.

“No, I’m a homeowner. But if you’d asked me ten years ago if I thought I’d end up as an octopus or as a homeowner, I’d have gone with octopus.” He lifted his head a bit to look her in the eyes. “It’s weird how bizarre it feels to be normal.”

“You’ll never be normal. Doing normal stuff won’t change who you are. You’ll never be a civilian, Dean.”

He squashed her tight against him, chuckling at the way her breath whooshed out of her lungs. “You’re right. I just… Fuck, I…”

“I know. I get it. But, Dean, you would have had to stop someday no matter what. You could have ended up dead or far worse off than this. Anyone who didn’t know you before will barely notice that you’re a bit more clumsy than most. There’s still so much you can do.”

“But I can’t hunt. I can’t save lives. If something ever happens to you, or to Sam, Cas, Eileen… I can’t protect you.”

“I know. That’s life for most people. You can still do a lot of good.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Caitlin was silent for a while. “You could help Sam with research.”

“Or I could get a job at Biggerson’s, flipping burgers. No way, I’m gonna sit and read about monsters and lore and not get to kill ‘em myself.” Dean’s eyes turned distant, and his grip around Caitlin tightened enough to hurt. He really needed a drink.

“I bet you’d be employee of the month all through the year.” Caitlin smiled. “You’d look so dashing in their uniforms, with the cap and the stripes-” She cut off, squealing, when Dean tickled her sides.

Her phone buzzed and bought her a respite as she read the text, almost hiccuping from laughing too hard. 

“Who’s writing? Did Charlie kill Garcia’s character? Has Cas been arrested again? Is it Eileen?” 

“It’s from Brad.” Caitlin showed him the message, sad smile on her lips.

I JUST WANTED TO WISH YOU GOOD LUCK IN KANSAS CITY. YOU’LL BE A GREAT DOCTOR. I HOPE EVERYTHING IS GOING ACCORDING TO PLAN WITH THE BIG MOVE. ALL THE BEST, -BRAD

Dean read with a frown. “You gonna answer?”

Caitlin sighed. “I don’t know. I hate knowing his psychiatrist’s reading over his shoulder. My answer wouldn’t be just for him.”

“I know he hasn’t had it easy but I still don’t get how you can forgive him.”

“You weren’t there for his trial. It’s his story to tell, but trust me; he already paid his dues and some.”

“You mean they… Nevermind. I don’t wanna know.” Dean shook his head, holding Caitlin tighter to him. “Will you have to go back here and testify every other week when Cody’s appeal starts?”

“I’m sure they’ll ask me to.” Caitlin shrugged. “I won’t.”

Dean opened his mouth. 

She spoke first. “I know they might repeal his death penalty without my testimony but he’ll be behind bars for the rest of his life either way. Cody might deserve to die but I’m against capital punishment on principle.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, questioning.

“Sure, there are humans worse than any monster you and Sam ever hunted, but once they’ve been caught and locked up, they’re not doing any more harm. How do you tell the difference between them and the people that might have been possessed or influenced by something that will never be acknowledged in a courtroom? How do you tell the difference between a Brad and a Cody if you’re not smack in the middle of it? I didn’t even know the difference when I was sixteen, would never have known if they hadn’t gotten me back.”

“But what if he ever gets out? Some bureaucratic mistake, a legal technicality, early parole due to good behavior. As long as he’s alive there’s always a risk.”

“He’s not the only threat out there. There’s Djinns and Demons and Daevas and drunk drivers and diseases, just to mention a few beginning with the letter d. I spent ten years in hiding, playing it safe. I’m done living in fear.”

Dean let out a deep breath when she nuzzled close, her nose tickling his neck. For a while, they just lay there. Then Dean spoke, his voice rougher than usual. “I’m surprised you don’t think Sam and I are killers, with that attitude.”

“Dean. You protected people. It’s not like there’s a court or a prison for human eating or killing, sentient creatures out there.”

“Always so rational.” Dean licked Caitlin’s cheek, laughing when she tried to get away, sputtering in mock outrage.

The licks turned to kisses and the kisses turned to nibbles. Caitlin gave in with a content little sigh, ending in a gasp when Dean used enough pressure to make her really feel his teeth around her earlobe.

Dean snuck a hand under her blouse and undid her bra.

The doorbell rang.

Dean huffed a half laugh, half sigh as Caitlin sat up and redid her bra clasp. “Can’t we just ignore it?”

Her eyes softened and her movements slowed. “What if it’s important?”

“They can leave a note.” Dean’s hand snaked up her back again, destination obvious.

The doorbell rang again, followed by a quick rapping rhythm, Dean knew all too well. He let his hand fall with a sigh of regret. “Or they might unlock the door, since we were dumb enough to give ‘em a key.”

They scrambled to their feet and looked halfway respectable when their front door opened to reveal Sam and Eileen.

Looking at Dean and Caitlin’s still frazzled appearance, Sam grinned. “I’m sorry, are we interrupting something?”

Dean flipped him off. “I thought you guys were busy in Kansas, painting protective sigils in invisible ink?” He signed a few keywords out of habit, though Sam most likely understood just fine, interpreting the movements of Dean’s lips.

“Yeah, we just… something came up. I wanted to tell you in person.” Sam did that weird thing where it looked like he was looking up from under his lashes, all shy and uncertain.

Dean’s jaw clenched, wrinkles of worry creasing his forehead. “Sammy, what’s wrong?”

Sam sputtered. “No, no. It’s not like that, nothing bad. But… It’s just… I guess Eileen and I will have to stop hunting, too.”

Dean looked between them, mouth open and eyes wide.

Caitlin broke into a wide grin, something unspoken passing between her and Eileen. “Congratulations, you guys,” she exclaimed, hugging first Eileen and then Sam.

“Could someone tell me what’s going on?” Dean grumbled.

Caitlin bit her lip and watched Sam expectantly.

Sam smiled wide, dimples carved into his cheeks. “You’re going to be an uncle, Dee.”

Dean’s eyes went impossibly wider, his mouth agape. A blissful smile slowly spread before he froze, frowned, and narrowed his eyes. “If this is some stupid joke about that mutt you’re planning to adopt-”

“No joke. Though we do plan to get a dog, now that we won’t be traveling as much as expected.” Sam grinned. He sobered a little. “Dean, I know you don’t like talking about it but you practically raised me, man. You’ll be there, right? If I need help?”

Dean swallowed hard and engulfed Sam in a crushing hug. “Of course, little brother.”

They didn’t get any more stuff packed that day, leaving the chaos behind to eat out. 

Over dessert, Dean nudged Sam. “So what are you gonna do, college boy, if you’re not hunting?”

Sam chuckled. “Be a college boy, I guess. Charlie dug up my old scholarship and refurbished it. I guess I’m going back to law school. I won’t become a procedural lawyer as long as I’m deaf but I guess pushing pens isn’t so bad.”

Dean glowed with pride. “That’s… Holy fuck, Sam, that’s awesome.” He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m really happy for you, man.”

“Thanks.” Sam took another bite of his salad and chewed slowly. “So, what about you, Dean? Any idea what you’ll do with your time while Caitlin’s busy at the hospital?” 

Dean made an awkward shrug and lowered his gaze to his plate. A sly smile appeared on his lips. “Maybe I should take some child-rearing classes. At least one of us should know what we’re doing, this time.”

Eileen almost choked on her water.

Sam kicked Dean under the table, his expression grateful. “You didn’t do too bad the first time around, you know.”

Dean grinned and Sam knew he walked right into what was coming.

“Imagine what you could’ve achieved if I _had_ known more, college boy.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

XOXOX

It was late, they were both a little buzzed from toasting so many times, when Caitlin turned to trace the handprint on Dean’s shoulder with a finger. “Did you mean it?”

Dean, almost asleep, grunted, opening one eye halfway. “Meanwha?”

“You, working with kids?”

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. Those ankle biters can be vicious.”

“But not as scary as monsters, right?” 

“Way scarier.” Dean smiled. “I guess they’d be easier to handle than engine parts, these days.”

“I never told you, but when the Djinn had me, I dreamed of you. Us. Together.” Caitlin blushed.

“You did?” Dean pulled her closer. “What was it like?”

“You…” She smiled, her cheeks heating further. “You were a nurse at the pediatrics ward. You were amazing with the kids.”

Dean gaped at her. “A nurse?”

She nodded, biting her lip.

Dean pursed his lips and tilted his head, considering. “Don’t nurses usually end up marrying handsome doctors?”

“Shut up, Winchester.”

“Why? You could be Doctor Winchester, parading you trophy spouse, nurse Winchester around at fundraisers. Doc Winchester’s got a nice ring to it, don’t it?”

“Dean, seriously, can it.” Caitlin rolled away and lay on her back. “You’re such an ass.”

Laughing, Dean poked her side. “You’re the one who dreamt me as a nurse, Doc.”

Caitlin glared at him with narrowed eyes. “I did. I saw you put a glove over your head and down over your nose, making it look like a pig’s snout and blow air into the glove until it came off your head, whizzing across the room.”

Dean laughed harder. “That’s… that’s priceless. Next time I get my hands on a glove, I’ll try it.”

“Screw you.”

“Really? I thought you were mad at me?”

“Dean!”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll stop. Sleep tight, Caitie.”

Caitlin turned to kiss him goodnight. “You too, nurse Dean.”

“Whatever.”

 

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. 
> 
> The end. 
> 
> We made it. 
> 
> Somehow, we all made it. 
> 
> Some of the characters may be a bit worse for wear but I really believe good things are coming to them.
> 
> Keep your eyes open for more extras. I plan to write them over the next few months.
> 
> Thank you, everyone, who read this far.
> 
> Please don't hesitate to leave a comment, I love to hear your thoughts.  
> Constructive criticism is more than welcome.


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